Somewhere Back in Time
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Sequel to "Red Sky, Take Warning." Mr. Zero had promised that it wasn't over. Now, he's ready to inflict more misery upon our heroes as they find themselves on the run again, this time, through the very depths of the space-time continuum.
1. The Lone Angel

_Notes: The characters aren't mine, and the story is! This is the sequel to "Red Sky, Take Warning," but the events of "Manchester Jones" and "Nesmith and Jones" are also relevant to this story. Expect a few cameos from some of my other fandoms, and just about anything could happen…_.

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**Prologue**

It was a warm, summer night in Malibu, California—not uncomfortably warm, but pleasant. Four musicians slept peacefully in their beachside abode, unaware of an old foe's sudden appearance downtown, outside a small antique shop. By all appearances, it was an ordinary man who stood there, but that was not the case. This being was not human.

At first glance, the shop didn't seem out of the ordinary, either. Run by an archaeologist, it was a place that one of the four musicians had been to on one occasion; he had, later, introduced to proprietor to his bandmates. But, like the being outside the shop, the inventory—and even the archaeologist arranging things inside—were more than what they seemed.

The being now sneered, attempting to enter. Finding the door locked, he unlocked it by waving a hand over the bolt.

"Working late, Professor Song?" he asked.

Professor Song froze, but quickly turned around to face the intruder, pointing a gun at him.

"I don't take very kindly to break-ins," she said, coldly.

"Most people don't," the intruder admitted. "But you're not like most people; I had to be sure. Now, put that away; that will do you no good!"

"I'll be the judge of that," she hissed in reply.

"Oh, let's just save ourselves the time and trouble," the being said. "I've come here for two items—the Harp of Ages, and the Book of Ages. I know they are both here, and I will now take them off of your hands."

"They're not for sale," Professor Song replied, simply. "Nor is this shop open at this moment!"

"Oh, I am aware of that," the being replied. "You see, it is imperative that I get my hands on those items. I own a shop myself—a nice little pawn shop, and they would go very nicely with my collection."

"I am warning you one last time," Professor Song hissed, stepping forward with the gun still in her hands. "If you do not leave this instant, I'll—"

Her threat remained unfinished as the intruder, with a simple wave of his hand, sent the gun flying from her grip. The archaeologist's eyes widened, and she backed away, slowly.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Someone with the ability to make your deepest wishes come true," the man said.

"And what would you know about my deepest wish?" the archaeologist asked, with a derisive snort.

"Everything. And in addition to knowing your every thought, I am also able to work the space-time continuum to my liking—that includes both creating fixed points, as well we making existing fixed points no longer fixed. You give me the harp and the book, and I will release your mother and father from the fixed point that traps them."

For the briefest instant, Professor Song's will faltered at the thought, but the moment passed as the realization struck her.

"You… You're…" she gasped. "…But you can't be!"

"I am," he said. "You may address me as Mr. Zero. And now that you know who I am, you might as well accept that I will leave here with what I want, and it is useless to try and stop me."

"I don't this so," she retorted.

By force of habit, her eyes flickered to the book and harp resting behind the counter. Both Professor Song and Mr. Zero grabbed for the items. Within seconds, each had one hand on each item, launching into a game of tug-of-war. Mr. Zero yawned, bored, and Professor Song knew that she was being toyed with.

That was when Mr. Zero suddenly strummed the harp.

A glowing circle appeared overhead, swirling with light like a tornado. The eye of the formation now split open, revealing the vast expanse of the Time Vortex. Professor Song gasped, willing herself not to look at it as the Vortex began to draw items into it with an irresistible pull.

As the archaeologist found herself being lifted off of her feet, she released the Harp of Ages, using her hand to grab onto the countertop to stand against the pull of the Vortex. Her other hand still grasped the Book of Ages.

Zero, unperturbed by the suction of the Vortex, smirked as he continued to pull back on the book. As the tug-of-war continued, several pages began to come loose from the book. Professor Song gasped in despair as the torn pages were drawn into the Vortex—she was absolutely powerless to stop it.

Mr. Zero now laughed, strumming the harp once again. The portal to the Time Vortex closed; the sudden lack of suction sent Professor Song crashing to the ground, pulling the Book of Ages with her—Zero had let go of the volume.

"Well," he said, smirking at her. "It seems as though I don't need the Book of Ages after all. The right pages were sent into the Vortex, and I have the Harp of Ages. At last, I will be able to wreak my vengeance upon Nesmith and his little band."

"Why him?" River asked, trying to catch her breath. "Why them? They're just—"

"I know _exactly_ why you have a personal interest in ensuring Nesmith's well-being," Zero said, smirking. "Trust me; this isn't a vendetta against you; this is entirely about what he and his oh-so-precious friends have done to me!"

The archaeologist shook her head in despair and disbelief at the notion of the Devil being so obsessed.

"How is getting your revenge on them a testament to your strength? They never sought to humiliate you or have anything to do with you!"

"But they did. And, more than once, they undermined my power—you know _exactly_ what they've done to me!" Mr. Zero said, his eyes flaring. "I cannot allow it to stand—I will not allow them to consider themselves the victors and let me remain the laughingstock of the Netherworld!"

Professor Song made a feeble attempt to grab the Harp of Ages from him as he was talking, but Mr. Zero knew she would try. He backed away so that the instrument was out of her reach, and then used his free hand to snap his fingers.

In an instant, a stone statue of an angel, its hands over its eyes, appeared in the middle of the shop. The archaeologist's shoulders went rigid.

"You recognize it, don't you?" Mr. Zero asked. "Of course you do—the very same one that sentenced your parents to death! …Think of it as a little parting gift—for you, and for the Monkees."

"No!" Professor Song gasped, but Mr. Zero vanished in a cloud of smoke, Harp and all, leaving her alone with the creature.

She allowed the tears to fall from her eyes—she knew she couldn't blink in its presence. But, this time, it wasn't for her parents she was crying for. No; her tears were for a young man in a woolhat, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the declaration of war that had been made against him and his comrades.

**Chapter 1**

The next morning brought a beautiful sunrise over Malibu. The residents were taking advantage of the pleasant morning, and the Monkees, as well, were making the most of it. Peter was getting a start on washing the dishes after their breakfast. His mind was only half-focused on his task; the other half of his attention was directed to the alcove of the Pad, where Davy and Micky, sat, trying to put their heads together and write a song. They had managed to develop a catchy tune between them, but were at a complete loss for lyrics.

"We are _not_ writing a song about chemistry, Micky," Davy insisted, as Micky now came up with tentative lyrics that involved a piece of potassium burning in a beaker of water.

"Aww, why not? No one's ever done it before; we'll be revolutionary!"

"For one thing, no one's ever done it because there's no appeal!" Davy said.

"And yet another song about falling in love does?" Micky countered, referring to Davy's lyrics of choice.

"That's why there are so many of them," the English boy said, with a nod.

"I dunno," Peter said, offering his two cents. "I'm with Micky; you don't wanna do what everyone else is doing. And we've got plenty of love songs in our setlist, too. Of course, this is your project; don't let me influence you."

"Can we just try the chemistry thing?" Micky asked, hopefully.

"Micky, your lyrics don't even go with the tune!" Davy pointed out. "The tune is slower than something that would be proper for a beaker with a fire in it!"

"…You may have a point there," Micky admitted, sighing. "Well, back to the old drawing board. What can we use this tune for…?"

"Hopefully, we'll figure it out soon," Davy sighed. "Let me tell you, though; Mike makes this whole songwriting thing look so easy!"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"What do you think he's doing right now?" the English boy said.

"He's out on the beach, isn't he?" Micky asked.

"Yeah, but he's… Well, let me demonstrate."

Davy got up and went to the window, opening it. A catchy, melodic yodeling—mixed with equally catchy lyrics—issued from outside, tinged with a strong Texas drawl as a guitar played along.

"He said he woke up with a new idea for a song and headed out just after we ate breakfast. His new song is coming together already," Davy said, sighing in slight jealousy at his best friend's talent. "Meanwhile, it's taken Micky and me this long just to come up with the melody of our song, and we haven't even decided on a topic for our lyrics yet."

"Maybe we should play the tune for Mike," Micky said, with a lopsided smile. "He could come up with the lyrics in about five minutes."

"Nah; he'd probably tell you to keep on at it and figure it out on your own," Peter said.

"Yeah, he probably would," Davy said. He fell silent for a minute, quietly listening to his friend's singing.

"Davy?" Peter asked.

"I was just thinking…" the English boy said. "I don't really mind that Mike's able to come up with songs so easily. We're lucky to have him—both in the band, and… just… to have him with us…"

"You're thinking about that Golden Curse thing again, aren't you?" Micky asked him, softly.

Davy shuddered, but nodded.

"We almost lost him that time," he said, quietly. "We came so close to never hearing that voice of his again—to losing our friend." He clenched a fist. "And it would've been my fault."

"Hey, don't think like that!" Peter said. "Thanks to you, Mike made it!"

"Yeah, and he's made a full recovery—just listen to him out there!" Micky added.

"I know," Davy said. "He even says that he's made a full recovery, and he certainly acts like it, but… I still think that part of his mind is still a little heavy from it. I talked to him about it—when the nightmares kept me up for a few nights after it was all over. I know he had to have been shaken by what nearly happened to him, but… He keeps insisting that the scariest thing for him was seeing me nearly fall under the Forbidden One's spell."

"Knowing Mike, he meant it," Peter said. "He always puts himself last."

"Not to mention that you two go back a ways before you met us," Micky reminded him. "So there's that, too."

Davy nodded.

"I'm really glad I could be there for him," he said. "Especially now that I know why he left New Gallifrey—his only friends at the time turned on him and treated him like dirt… And Rico insulting him all the time certainly didn't help his self-esteem." He sighed. "That's one thing I haven't been able to do in all the years I've known him—help him see that he really is a great person."

"If anyone can, it's you, Davy," Peter said, confidently. "And we'll be right there to help you out."

Davy managed a smile, still listening to Mike's singing.

"Thanks, Fellas."

If the conversation had been ready to continue, any attempts at doing so had been thwarted by the phone ringing.

"I got it!" Micky said, hoping that it would be news of a gig. "Hello? This is Micky. …Mike's out right now; I suppose if it's really important, we can get him. Who's calling? …Professor Song? Oh, you're that archeologist chick we met—we were just talking about that Golden Curse thing, actually! What can we do for you?"

Davy looked to the phone in interest; he had been the one to meet Professor River Song first during the course of the Golden Curse adventure. It was because of her that he had learned the secret to deciphering his grandfather's notes getting through the Forbidden One's temple—which had allowed him to break the curse on Mike. She had also helped lead the CIS to them to arrest the perpetrators of the crime.

"…So, let me make sure I've got this," Micky said. "Someone wrecked your antique shop and stole something, and you need us to help? Why? …The guy who broke in said he knew us? Who was he? …Oh, you'll explain when we get there? Well, we're not really too busy right now; we could probably be there in about a half an hour—is that okay? Great; see you in a bit!"

"Who'd break into her shop?" Davy wondered aloud, as Micky hung up. "And why would she need us?"

"Probably to identify the thief, or a picture of him," Peter said. "She said whoever it was mentioned us, so…"

"Well, I guess we could use a diversion from writing this song; we're no further than we were before," Davy said. "But what about Mike? He's still composing over there…"

"I'll handle it," Micky said, now sticking his head out of the window. "Mike! HEY, MIKE!"

The singing outside stopped and was replaced by an annoyed "_Whaaaat_!?"

"We've got things to do!" Micky called. "You remember that Professor Song who helped us out in Peru?"

"What about her?" Mike asked.

"Well, she needs us to come over to her shop right away—there was a break-in, and the thief apparently mentioned us!"

There was a pause.

"When did we get acquainted with burglars?" Mike yelled back. "More than that, why does she think we'd still be in touch with them?"

"Because she was there when we had the run-in with Rico!" Davy yelled back.

"…Touché!" Mike hollered.

"You'd better get up here before Mr. Babbitt yells at us for yelling like this!" Micky called down to him.

"Awright, awright!" the Texan drawled.

Within minutes, Mike was back inside the pad, gently putting away his guitar back in its case.

"So what exactly went on in there?" he asked.

"She didn't really say," Micky said. "She said that she'd explain everything once we got there."

"Huh…" Mike mused, shrugging his shoulders as he retrieved the keys to the Monkeemobile. "Well, guess we'll find out soon enough."

"There was something else, though," Micky added, now frowning slightly. "She… apologized."

"For dragging us over there on such a nice day, you mean?" Peter asked. "That was nice of her, but she didn't really have to; we don't mind—"

"No; it wasn't an I'm-sorry-I'm-inconveniencing-you apology; it was more of an I'm-sorry-that-this-is-happening-to-you," the brunet explained. "And she said it twice—like she really wanted to drive it home."

"Maybe whoever broke into her place mentioned us as the next target?" Davy asked, puzzled.

"What do we have that's even worth taking?" Mike wondered aloud, gesturing around their shabby, little beachhouse. "Even our instruments are old and beaten-up; no self-respecting burglar would step in here!"

"Well, we can stand here wondering about it, or we can head on over and find out about it ourselves," Micky said.

The unanimous decision was made to visit the professor. Mike case one last glance around their home before securing the front door. He didn't know what the professor needed to tell them, but even though he was sure that it didn't have anything to do with items in the Pad, he still felt nervous.

The Texan looked from each of his friends, and that was when the realization began to sink in.

There were three targets in the Pad worth taking—three that were worth more to Mike than anything in the world. And as the flashes of memories raced through his mind—of harps and contracts, courtrooms and trials, revenge plots and stolen memories—he suddenly realized that he had a pretty good idea of who the professor's intruder was.

And for the first time in a long time, fear began to fill his heart.


	2. A Book that Tells About Everybody's Past

_Notes: Mainly exposition in this chapter; the plot will start moving much more quickly in the next. Also, if you recognize any of the concepts in this chapter (aside from the call-backs to my other fics, of course), they aren't mine—borrowed from other fandoms. Also, here is where having read my "Nesmith and Jones" oneshot will help in making more sense as to how Mike got ahold of the key._

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"You sure this is the right place, Davy?" Mike asked. Since the English boy had been the only one of the band to actually visit the professor's shop, the Texan had appointed him as their navigator.

"Yeah; it's right around here somewhere… There it is!" Davy exclaimed, pointing out the shop. He blinked as he noticed the spiderweb of cracks in the display window.

"It looks like it got hit pretty hard," Peter said, voicing Davy's thoughts.

Mike's mouth thinned as he parallel parked the Monkeemobile. Micky was the first one out and looked through the glass panel on the door.

"Yeah, it sure did," he said, sympathetically.

Though his mind was elsewhere, Mike did let out a low whistle as he saw the extent of the damage as they entered. Antiques were strewn everywhere—some of them broken beyond repair.

"I hope she was insured," Davy said, shuddering at the loss. His grandfather's lessons in history and archaeology had left enough of an impression.

"I'm sure she was," Micky said, picking up what had once been part of a Ming vase. "But, still…"

"What do you suppose this is, though?" Peter wondered aloud, staring at a hole in the back wall. "Look at the shape of this hole here—a person with wings. It's like a snow angel, only instead of being in the snow, it went through the wall."

Mike gave Peter a look.

"That's _nothing_ like a snow angel," he informed him.

"Well, either way, it looks like an angel crashed through the wall," Peter insisted.

"You're right," Professor Song sighed, as she stepped into view. "An angel _did_ crash through the wall."

"An angel did all this?" Micky asked, gesturing to the destruction.

"Two of them—a stone angel, and a Fallen one," she said.

"Then it _was_ Mr. Zero!" Mike exclaimed. "I had a feeling when you didn't want to say who did it and just kept apologizing…"

The professor glanced at Mike and nodded.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Davy exclaimed. "Mr. Zero was the one who trashed this place?! Why?!"

"Why else? To get our attention," Mike said. "He told us it wasn't over, and now he's stirring things up to get us to take notice."

"There's more to it than just that, I'm afraid," Professor Song said. "This wasn't merely an exhibition of strength; he is actively setting a plan into motion. He got what he wanted—a harp."

"Oh, he's got a thing for harps," Peter said. "Trust me—I know…"

"He has no intentions of tempting anyone with _this_ harp," the professor replied. "He stole this for his own use; it is the Harp of Ages—according to the legend, playing it can allow the space-time continuum to be shaped and reshaped according to the whim of the player. A specific combination of notes has to be played for a desired effect; random notes will only open and close the Time Vortex. But Zero has unleashed what he needs to rewrite time itself with the harp by means of this." She placed a damaged book on the countertop. "He caused several pages to tear out from this volume—the Book of Ages. Both the book and the harp belonged to a seer who lived centuries ago—the Oracle of Ages. Using the harp's music, she documented all of the fixed points in entire history of time—past, present, and future."

"All that in one book?" Micky asked, glancing at it.

"Only the fixed points," she repeated. "Time is complex and always changing, and there are some things that aren't written in stone. But fixed points are things that must happen, no matter what—things that cannot be changed without dire consequences to the space-time continuum. At its worst, changing a fixed point can cause the collapse of the entire continuum, if the damage is severe enough."

"Well, that sure doesn't sound like a good thing," Micky gulped. "And you say Zero took pages from the book, too?"

"The pages were lost in the Time Vortex—more than likely, they have all ended up in the era of history that concerns them. Mr. Zero, as you call him, has the power to determine what is and isn't a fixed point, and, as such, he can change anything in that book without completely destroying the continuum. But the changes he could cause would still be absolutely unthinkable."

"Especially since he'd be changing things to make us as miserable as possible," Mike said, quietly.

"Correct."

"But I don't understand," Davy said. "These fixed points, as you call them, sound like they're very important things. Why on Earth would four musicians have anything to do with something that important?"

"You would be surprised as to how important ordinary people can be," Professor Song said. "And the four of you are far from a band of ordinary musicians. You defeated the Devil—more than once. You broke the Golden Curse. You saved members of royalty from different countries. You stopped thieves and international spies. Your actions have had an effect on not only nations, but on the entire world."

"Wow," Peter said, his eyes wide. "I… I never really thought of it that way before. We just went along helping people out and trying to make them happy—usually with music. I mean, sure, we did get into all sorts of unexpected situations, but we never really dwelled too much on them."

"But that means that if Zero makes changes to those missing pages, even if he can prevent the space-time continuum from collapsing, a whole lot of people will be very unhappy," Micky said. "And that includes us."

"But if he took off with that harp, he's probably halfway through his edits by now," Mike said, cynically.

"We would have known if he had started," Professor Song assured him. "Because the pages were scattered to their proper times, he has to retrieve them first; he can only rewrite a page if he's close enough to the page itself."

"So, we've still got a chance!" Davy said.

"Yes, but we absolutely cannot delay," she replied. "You need to get the pages back before he does! I know that you have the TARDIS key—and that you found where the TARDIS was hidden."

"The what?" Micky asked.

"Mike calls it the El Dorado," Davy explained.

"Oh, that thing!" Micky said. "Yeah, he showed it to us once. Davy was the one who got to actually go for a spin in that thing with Mike. He said that he wanted to keep it hidden in case Adam Cartwheel came back—oh, wait, you don't know who he is, do you? Well, he wants the El Dorado, and Mike's trying to hide it from him."

"Very wise," Professor Song said. "But you'll need to bring it out of hiding now; it can home in on the loose pages, and you should be able to retrieve them fairly easily."

"No," Mike said, calmly but firmly. "We're not going to."

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Mike in shock.

"You must be joking," the English boy stated. "Mike, do you realize what you're saying?!"

"Yes, I do," the Texan said. "Look, you think Mr. Zero did all this without expecting us to go chasing after the pages he tore? He's banking on us going after those pages; we'll be walking right into his hands!"

"I don't think you quite understand," Professor Song said, as stunned as Mike's bandmates were. "Not just anyone can time travel—if not you, then who?"

"Well, not for nothing, but you seem to know a whole lot more about all this than we do anyway," Mike said. He took off his woolhat and pulled the key to the El Dorado from within its folded band. "Take it; you'll find the El Dorado parked on the beach out behind our Pad—1334 North Beechwood."

The archaeologist sighed.

"You can keep that," she said. "I have my own key."

"Well, then it looks as though our problems are solved," Mike declared. "I'm really sorry I had to refuse, but you gotta understand—I can't put my bandmates in this kind of danger. We're sure to be walking into a trap."

"You don't need to apologize," she said. "What I asked of you was a lot, and I really didn't have a right to ask you to put yourselves in such danger."

"Of course you had a right!" Davy said, coming to her defense. "You went out of your way to help us with the Golden Curse; it was only natural that you came to us to try to help against Zero!"

"Mike, can't you just think about this for a second?" Micky asked. "Other than the five of us, there really isn't anyone else. Are you seriously going to let the professor do this all alone?"

"I only just said a few minutes ago that helping people is what we do," Peter added. "I know you want to keep us safe, but—"

"Look, fellas… I want to help," Mike said. "But have y'all forgotten what Zero did to us the last time we walked into his hands? Do you really want to risk going through something like that again—losing our memories? Being torn apart and thrown into lives that aren't really ours? Being manipulated?"

"Of course not," Davy said. "But if Zero gets those pages first, he'll do far worse than make us forget about each other. There's no limit to what he could to—he could rewrite Peter's trial so that he wins. He could rewrite my duel with Archduke Otto so that I get skewered. He could rewrite Micky's impersonation of Baby Face so that it goes terribly wrong and one of the gang silences him for being an impostor. And he could rewrite so many terrible things happening to you—like making me unable to break the Golden Curse that had been cast on you, leaving you golden forever. Worst of all, he could rewrite everything so that not only would he throw us back into those alternate lives, but rewrite so _that_ becomes reality. Think about it—the one thing that got us through that was because we knew the lives we were living weren't really ours, and that we kept remembering our real ones. He could make it so that our real lives now never existed."

"And we wouldn't be able to tell that anything was wrong," Micky added.

"You bring up some very good points that we can discuss in a band meeting once we get home," Mike said. "And may I emphasize the word 'band,' please? We are musicians, first and foremost. Our mission is to bring joy through music, not stop the plans of the Devil—that's a job better suited for monks, not Monkees."

He looked at his bandmates, who were clearly not in full agreement, and he then turned back to Professor Song.

"Look, um… I'm sorry for bailing out on you like this, but—"

"You don't have to explain," she said, with a sad smile. "But I do want to reiterate how very sorry I am."

Mike blinked.

"…You know something that we don't," he realized.

"Yes, I do," she admitted, with a solemn nod. "And before you ask me to tell you, I might was well let you know that I can't—spoilers. What I _can_ do, though, is see that you are prepared for whatever lies ahead. So, if something happens that makes you change your mind…" She drew a strange-looking device from her pocket and handed it to Mike. "Make sure you hold onto this."

"What is this thing? Some kind of groovy pen?" an intrigued Micky asked, leaning over to look at it.

"It's the Sonic Screwdriver; I can't explain much right now, but I will when the need arises."

"Look, ah… I already told you that we're not going on this little time trip here," Mike said. "If this is some sort of bribe—"

"It's not," she replied. "It's to offer you some sort of defense since, as you aptly pointed out, this is the Devil himself we're talking about. I have something for each of you, actually…" She took an ocarina from behind the counter, which had managed to escape the destruction of the previous night, and handed it to Davy.

"This feels like it's rather old," the English boy said. "You sure you're okay with just giving it away?"

"You're a musician, as Michael pointed out; it suits you—the breaker of the Golden Curse," she said. "Think of it as a thank-you gift for stopping what could've been an outright disaster."

Davy nodded, and then looked to Mike, as though silently pleading him to change his mind and let them be more proactive about the current situation. Mike said nothing, but he did slip the screwdriver and the El Dorado's key into his pocket.

Professor Song now removed a strange device from around her wrist and handed it to Micky.

"Keep this close by," she said. "In fact, I'd wear it at all times. And now, Peter, for you…" She picked up the Book of Ages and handed it to him. "You have the responsibility of making sure that no more pages are lost from the book."

Peter gulped.

"Uh… are you sure you don't want to give that to Mike? He'd do a better job of… not messing things up."

"Nevertheless, I'm giving it to you," she said. "I must ask you not to be tempted to read it, or let anyone else read it. Some of these fixed points haven't happened yet, and having prior knowledge of them could create a paradox if things don't go exactly as written. Just keep the book safe; I have full faith in your ability to manage that."

"Glad someone does, because I sure don't," Peter said, quietly, as he clutched the book close to him.

"I don't quite get something, though," Mike said. "You say you're preparing us in case something happens—and your tone of voice suggests that it's not a matter of 'if,' but 'when.' So how exactly are a screwdriver, an ocarina, a weird wristwatch, and a book supposed to prepare us against a plot by Mr. Zero?"

"I will explain how they work in due time," the archaeologist said. "In the meantime, the best I can do is offer you one more word of warning. Zero isn't the only thing you have to watch out for. I mentioned to you about the other angel—the one that did _that_." She indicated the hole in the wall.

"Oh, yeah. You said it was a stone angel that did that?" Mike asked.

"Yes—a Weeping Angel. It's only stone when you look at it," she warned. "If you don't, it comes alive—and pursues you. You only have to look away for a second—they can even do it in the blink of an eye. If it touches you, you get thrown into the past—and the Angel feeds off of the years you would have lived."

"How do we stop that from happening?" Micky gulped.

"You can't," Professor Song said. "All you can do is keep your eyes on them long enough to get away."

"And this thing is loose somewhere in Malibu right now?" Davy asked, his eyes widening.

"They can move obscenely fast as long as nothing is looking at them—there's no telling where it could be by now," she said. "I don't know what Zero intended for it to do—just cause mayhem, I suppose."

"Do you have a picture of this Angel thing so that we know what to look out for?" Peter asked.

"No!" the professor exclaimed, in such haste that everyone stared at her. "A picture—a drawing even—would be too dangerous. They can come alive through images. You'll know it when you see it—trust me. And when you _do_ see it, you'd better not stop seeing it until you're far enough away." She sighed. "That's all I can offer you right now. I understand the reasons why Michael refused my request, but please give me a call in the event that he changes his mind."

"I don't intend to," Mike informed her. "Sure, we're going to have a discussion about this, but my mind is made up. Even if it's agreed that we do something, it'll be me going solo while they stay where it's safe." He held up a hand as the other three began to protest. "I refuse to put them in any danger or let anything happen to them on my watch."

River gave him a sad smile, but nodded.

"Of course," she said. "I understand completely."

"Well, I'm glad," Mike said, shaking her hand. "Now if you need some sort of benefit concert to raise money to fix all this damage, we'll sing for you free of charge. That's what we do."

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that."

She said nothing as the Monkees turned to go. They were silent as they left, but the moment the shop door closed behind them, they immediately started arguing—Davy was pointing an accusatory finger at Mike, who stood stubbornly with his arms folded. Micky was waving his arms on the verge of panic, and Peter was desperately trying to keep the peace.

"I truly am very sorry," she softly whispered.


	3. Don't Blink

The argument continued all the way back to Beechwood Drive as Mike drove them back home.

"I just can't believe that you'd leave Professor Song high and dry like that!" Davy said. "After everything she did for us—you were the one who told her that if we could ever make it up to her, you'd do it!"

"Mr. Zero was not part of the equation!" Mike said.

"But he's gonna mess with the space-time continuum!" Micky said, frantically. "Anything could happen! _Anything_!"

"One point at a time," Davy said. "Right now, this is about running out on someone who saved your life, Mike! If she hadn't helped me translate Grandfather's notes, you'd have been stuck as a statue!"

There was a screech as Mike slammed the GTO's brakes; they came to an abrupt stop on the side of the road near their stretch of beach.

"I wouldn't even have _been_ a statue if you'd just listened to me when I had been telling you to let that medallion go!"

The words were out of his mouth before he could have stopped himself, and he regretted them immediately; Davy looked as though he had been slapped in the face. After Mike's reassurances over the last several weeks that it hadn't been Davy's fault, he had just now stated the opposite.

"Right," the English boy said. "I see. I only saved you and the world from my own dumb mistake. Thanks for putting that into perspective, O Wise Leader."

"That isn't how I meant it," Mike said.

'We don't have time for this, Guys!" Micky exclaimed. "It doesn't matter who did what—it only matters what Zero is going to do! It matters what we do to stop him!"

"Well, whatever it is, I ought to stay right out of it, or else I'll put us and the whole world in danger again!" Davy snapped back.

"I told you that isn't the way I meant it; stop putting words in my mouth!" Mike retorted. "I know you didn't mean for that Golden Curse thing to happen—that's the last thing you would've wanted! But you tend to think that you're invincible—_and you're not_!"

The Texan seized Davy by the shoulders.

"You think we can just go out there, thumb our noses at Zero, pick up all the scattered pages and come home like it was nothing? It doesn't work that way! Just like it wouldn't have worked for you to be on your own in Los Angeles at the age of 14; you have no _idea_ how lucky you were that you ran into me at that bus depot that day. Can you even imagine where you'd be without me?!"

"Zero might be arranging that to happen right now!" Micky yelled. "We can't just sit around here—"

"Maybe I might've been worse off," Davy conceded, interrupting Micky. "But maybe—just _maybe_—I might have been better off, instead. You don't know that I wouldn't have been! And let's forget about that for now; the fact is that I am not a child, Mike! Stop treating me like one! I know you love your Texas prairie chickens, but _I_ don't need a mother hen fussing over me!"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a child or not—and you leave those Texans prairie chickens outta this!" Mike said. "There are things you don't seem to understand—the danger we're in is not something to be taken lightly, and if you just go around acting like nothing is wrong—"

"I am not stupid, either!" Davy quipped. "I know it's not a walk in the park! I was the one who broke the curse on you—yes, after I caused you to fall to it, I know…"

"I am _not_ blaming you for the curse!" Mike yelled over him. "I'm not blaming you for _anything_! I'm just—"

"STOP IT!"

Mike, Davy, and Micky turned to the blond, who had just shouted.

"Look at you!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Listen to yourselves! You're yelling and screaming and…" He trailed off. "Don't you see what's happening here?! This is what Zero wants—he _wants_ to see us turning against one another exactly like this, without him doing a thing."

Davy bit his lip, turning red as Micky stared determinedly at the ground. Mike stared unblinkingly at Peter.

"We're all worried about each other—I know that," Peter went on. "Davy, you don't want something happening to Mike again. Mike, you don't want Davy or the rest of us getting into trouble because we wanted to help you. And Micky, you want to stop a potential disaster from happening to us. And that's great—I don't want anything to happen to you guys, either. But I don't want to see you fighting like this—especially not for a reason like this! Our love for each other is supposed to be our power—what keeps us together, not apart!"

There was a moment of quiet, and Mike finally spoke.

"Well, um… You… you've got some pretty good points there yourself, Shotgun. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that you've said the best thing here today."

Davy gave a nod.

"Yeah, um…" He looked to Mike. "Listen, Mike, I… Er…" The words were lost halfway to his mouth, and he stared at the ground. "I think I'll go for a walk on the beach for a bit."

He got out of the Monkeemobile and started walking towards the sand.

"Mick?" the Texan said. "Can you take the Monkeemobile back to the garage for me? And you and Peter join us on the beach when you're done with that?"

Micky managed a smile and nodded.

"Sure," he said, and Mike vaulted over the car door, following Davy.

Davy knew that Mike was behind him, but he was still reluctant to say anything. Finally, he turned back.

"Yeah," Mike said, with a lopsided smile. "I'm still here. You'll never be rid of me."

"I don't want to be," Davy said, quietly. "Mike, I'm sorry for what I said back there. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know," Mike said, placing a hand on Davy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, too; you know I don't blame you for anything that happened. That medallion was controlling you. This whole thing is just getting to all of us—lucky we've got Peter to bring us back to reality when we need him the most."

"Peter's right, you know," the English boy said, after a while. "I don't want anything happening to you again. Nearly losing you to the curse was the most horrible moment of my life."

"I feel the same way every time you get into trouble—sometimes, you honestly don't realize how close a call you had," Mike said. "I'm just so scared that, one of these days, your luck's gonna run out, and I'll lose you. And I really don't know what I'd do without my little buddy."

Davy gave a wan smile.

"You've grown on me, too, Mike," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you, either."

Mike managed another smile.

Micky now called out to them, as he and Peter caught up with them on the beach.

"Everything okay?" he asked, as he caught his breath.

"Yeah," Davy grinned.

"Great," Peter said, smiling back. "Now that we've gotten over that little crisis, we should figure out what to do about this big one."

"Well, let's just keep on walking and thinking," Mike said, and the quartet, deep in thought, headed down their stretch of beach.

"This is the same bit of beach we ran down the last time Zero cursed us," Davy realized, quietly. "Zero attacked us here, in our Pad, in our beach…"

Mike exhaled, considering this.

"He'll do it again," the Texan realized. "We're not safe in our own home anymore—he's always popping in there whenever he wants."

"What should we do?" Peter asked.

Mike massaged the bridge of his nose.

"We may have to leave," he said. "It's no shame to run away—not from something like this."

"Mike, can I just point something out here?" Micky said. "This isn't some random bad guy here—we're talking about the Devil."

"We've established that," the Texan said.

"Yeah, we have… So you'd know as well as we do that skipping town isn't going to get him off of our backs," Micky went on.

"We won't have a safe place to turn to," Peter realized, shaking his head. "He can find us anywhere we try to hide."

"Then we won't hide," Mike said, quietly, as he came to a decision. "We'll run. And we won't stop running. We'll get in the Monkeemobile and head to wherever the road takes us—not stopping for anything."

"Spend the rest of our lives on the run from the Devil?" Davy asked. "Is that seriously what you're suggesting?"

"Yes, it is," Mike said. "Look, deliberately trying to antagonize him by getting the pages or challenging him head-on isn't smart by any stretch of the imagination—even if we do have some form of protection because of our love for each other. But we can still use that love we have—that'll be enough, hopefully, to help shield us while we're on the run. And it wouldn't be for the rest of our lives, either; Professor Song is handling the lost pages—while we distract Zero by running, she'll handle that. Once the pages are all back, we can come home. Now, I'll admit I don't know how long that'll take—it could be a month. It could be a year. It could be ten or twenty. But no matter how long it takes, I say that our chances are better if we're on the run together."

Peter, Micky, and Davy exchanged glances with each other, considering Mike's words carefully.

"We don't have to stop singing," Mike reminded them. "We can sing to pay our way—we'll _have_ to. The money won't be a sure thing; it'll be even less certain than it is now. And I'm sure we'll be spending nights with no food or shelter—not gonna deny that. But I say it's the best chance we've got. I'm willing to take being hungry and sleepless if I know it'll mean that the four of us can stick together."

"So am I," Peter said, with a nod. "Mike, I'm with you on this."

"Me, too," Micky agreed. "I mean, this whole idea is actually brilliant when you think about it—Zero can't possibly try to figure out what we're planning next if _we_ don't even know what we're doing!"

"Exactly," Mike said. "But we've gotta be unanimous in this—this is a big thing we're talking about." He turned to the English boy. "Tiny, what do you say?"

Davy stared out at the Pacific for a moment before speaking.

"You know, it's ironic," he said. "I came here when I was 14 because I wanted to prove that I could make it on my own—that I didn't need anyone. I never really ended up with the chance to prove it. And you know what? I don't think I want to." He smiled. "Just lead the way, Mike. I'll be running right beside you."

Mike smiled back, and looked to all of them.

"Well, that settles it, then," he said. "We're heading out of here."

"When, though?" Micky asked.

"As soon as possible," Mike said. "We have to get our instruments and provisions together, and we need to arrange things with Professor Song so that we can keep in touch with her about finding the pages. Realistically, we may need a couple days to fully get everything in order—"

He stopped in midsentence, staring at something up ahead. The others followed his gaze, freezing in their tracks at the sight.

A stone statue of an angel, its face buried in its hands, stood upon the sand. Surrounding it were sand sculptures, also of angels.

"What on Earth…?" Peter asked, his eyes wide.

"That's the thing!" Micky yelped. "The Weeping Angel thing! The thing that the professor said not to take our eyes off if we saw it!"

"But what're the other things?" Davy asked, visibly disturbed by the sand sculptures, as well.

"It looks like it made sand sculptures of itself," Peter said. "It must've been really bored, waiting for us to get back here."

"Say that again," Mike said, a dawning fear taking ahold of him again.

"It must've been really bored, waiting for us to…" Peter trailed off, realizing what Mike was getting at. "Waiting for us!? It was waiting for _us_!?"

"Exactly," Mike said. "Considering Zero was working with this thing, he probably put her up to it. Forget about settling things before we go—we're packing up our things now and we're leaving Malibu first thing in the morning."

"Can we even be ready by next morning?" Davy asked, as they all continued to stare at the Angel.

"We have to be," Mike replied. "I'm not taking any chances with this thing—especially if it was Zero's idea to sic it on us."

He stayed put for a moment, staring unblinkingly at the Angel as he ushered his bandmates away.

"Get back into the Pad and start packing," he ordered, waving them away. "I'll cover for you. Get going."

"Mike…" Davy began.

"Go!" the Texan ordered. "I'll be right behind you—I swear!"

The other three retreated—slowly, so as to be able to keep their eyes on the Angel in case Mike couldn't keep from blinking. But the Texan stood firm, continuing to glare at the statue.

"You just get one thing through that stone head of yours," he said, quietly. "You're not gonna get my buddies. We clear on that? Good."

"Mike!" Davy called, getting nervous as he watched him stand there.

Mike backed away from the Angel and the sand sculptures, still not blinking until he had reached the foot of the back staircase of the Pad. The Monkees were soon inside, having locked all the doors and windows, and began to pack. It took a surprisingly short time; Mike insisted on them only taking the bare necessities: instruments, food, and a couple sets of clothes—whatever could fit into one suitcase that the four of them would share.

They were far too nervous to eat anything that night—so much the better, as it meant food for the road. Mike instructed everyone to set their alarm clocks for 5 in the morning.

"I want us to be out of here before dawn," he said.

They were in agreement, and, one by one, they retreated to their rooms—first Micky, who wanted to spend some last-minute quality time with the science books that he would have to leave behind, then Peter, who seemed overwhelmed by the weight of everything, then Davy, who looked as though he wanted to talk to Mike some more, but decided against it, and, lastly, Mike, who took one last look around the living room before heading up to bed. Micky was asleep in his bed, his books still in his arms.

The Texan wasn't sure how long he had slept—it had just felt as though he had only laid his head down on the pillow when a series of thumping noises from downstairs woke him.

"Mick?" he mumbled. "D'you hear that?"

"Don't answer it; maybe they'll go away," the brunet said, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Mike almost agreed with him, but that was when another sound quickly filled the air—a fear-filled, horrified cry from an all-too-familiar source.

"DAVY!" Mike exclaimed, bolting out of his bed.

The scream had woken Micky up fully, as well—together, he and Mike ran down the spiral stairs. Davy was backed up against the table, staring in horror out the window of the alcove. Peter, who had heard Davy's scream, as well, had quickly gotten up and out of their room.

"Davy?" Mike asked. "Davy, what is it?"

Wordlessly, the terrified English boy pointed out the alcove window.

"I can't see anything," Peter said. "Can someone get the lights?"

"I did turn the lights on," Davy squeaked. "_They_ turned them off."

"They?" Mike asked, the sinking feeling from earlier returning to him once again. "Who's they?"

The Pad lights flickered back on and then went out again. But, in that moment, they could see dozens of the sand-sculpted Weeping Angels—on the beach, glaring up at them, and also on the balcony, pounding at the glass.

"That stone Angel wasn't making these sand sculptures just for fun," Mike realized. "Professor Song said that they can project themselves through images. It was using the sand sculptures to multiply!"

"It's worse than that," Davy said, his voice quivering as he indicated the pounding on the walls all around them. "They've got us surrounded."


	4. The Angels Take Malibu

Mike didn't want to believe that they were surrounded, even if he knew it was probably true. He quickly dashed to Davy and Peter's room, shining a flashlight out. Sure enough, the moment he looked, he saw more sand-sculpture Angels in the act of pounding on the walls of the Pad, as though trying to break in. The hammering on the other sides of the beachhouse continued, even as he stared at these ones.

"We gotta get these guys away from the house before they tear it down!" he said. "Or worse—throw us back in time!"

"Getting them away won't do any good," Davy said. "They'll just keep coming back until they get what they want—us."

"But we've got one defense—they can't get us if we keep staring at them," Peter said.

He cringed as the pounding on the other sides of the house continued. One even seemed to be trying to kick the door down.

"Okay, that's it; we're getting outta here," Mike said, locking the door of Davy and Peter's room. He then grabbed the bedsheet off of one of the beds and tied it to the bedpost.

"You're not going to climb down right into _that_?!" Micky asked, horrified, indicating the waiting Angels.

"I'm going to be banking on you guys to keep your eyes on 'em until I've made it. Then I'll take over staring at them until you guys climb down. Then we make it to the Monkeemobile and hightail it outta here."

"No!" Davy exclaimed, grabbing Mike's arm to stop him from climbing down the bedsheet rope.

Mike couldn't see his face in the dark, but the fear in the English boy's voice was unmistakable.

"Davy?"

"It's too risky!" Davy said. "What if something goes wrong? What if we're not able to keep our eyes on them? We'll lose you!"

Mike gripped Davy's shoulders.

"Just calm down there, Tiny. We'll be okay. This'll work," he said. "We've got four sets of eyes; that's enough to get us from here to the Monkeemobile."

"But how do you know?" Peter asked. "Davy's right; it seems too easy a solution. There's got to me more to it than that."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Mike insisted. "Okay, now… You three keep your eyes on those things."

The other Monkees shined their flashlights onto the sand Angels as Mike began to lower himself down the side of the Pad. His feet touched the ground, and he shuddered as he turned to see the Angels close-up. Their mouths were open, revealing a set of fangs.

"Okay," he said, once he moved back away from them to get them all into his field of vision. "I'm ready here. Y'all work out who's going down the rope next, but be quick about it; we don't have time!"

"You should go, Davy," Micky said. "You're the better climber."

"N-no…" he said. "You go first."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Davy said. "You're lighter than me, remember?"

"I was trying not to remember," the brunet sighed. "Ninety-nine pounds…"

"Hey, if Mike could make it, it'll hold the rest of us," Peter assured them. "But you go ahead anyway, Mick."

Micky made it down without incident. Peter then indicated for Davy to climb down, but Davy shook his head, silently insisting that Peter go before him. The blond shrugged, but climbed down, as well.

"Come on, Davy!" Mike called, still staring at the sand Angels, even with the two extra pairs of eyes helping out.

Davy leaned out the window, trying to catch his breath as he looked down at the Angels.

"I… Ah…" The moonlight illuminated the English boy, and it was clear that his knuckles were white as he gripped the windowsill. "Listen; I think one of us should stay here in case—"

"Are you crazy?!" Mike yelled. "Get down here right now!"

Davy didn't budge, but before Mike could yell at him again, Micky, who was standing behind him, suddenly gasped.

"What is it…?" Mike asked, not wanting to take his eyes off of the Angels.

"There're more of the sand Angels—all the way down Beechwood Drive," Micky squeaked. "I think they're going after everyone on the street!"

Mike swore aloud.

"Zero doesn't play fair," he hissed. "He knew we'd try to run from these things; he's putting everyone else in danger so that we'll feel too guilty to leave them to the Angels when they don't even know what they're capable of!"

"So, what do we do?" Peter asked, glancing from the ones attacking the Pad to the ones down the street.

"First, we get Davy outta that window," Mike said, seeing that the English boy still hadn't budged. "DAVY! You'd better climb down, or I'll be climbing back up to drag you down!"

It was a small, meek reply that answered him.

"Mike… please… leave me here…"

If it hadn't been for the accent, Mike wouldn't have recognized that it was Davy speaking. The younger boy's usual suave charm and confident air was gone and had been replaced by a pure, unadulterated fear that Mike had never heard from him before—sure, Davy had gotten scared before, but this… this was beyond scared.

"Peter," the Texan said, softly. "Keep your eyes on the Angels on this side."

"Right," the blond said, both he and Micky also stunned by Davy's tone of voice.

Mike now crossed through the group of Angel to get to the bottom of the bedsheet ladder

"Davy," he said. "Come on. I'm not going to ask you why these things have affected you as much as they have, but I need you to climb down here and come with us."

Davy shook his head. It was clear that he was trembling.

"Well, we're not leaving with you," Mike said. "You know that as well as I do. And there's something else I know you know—you know that I'm not going to let anything happen to you guys."

Davy exhaled, looking down at the Angels with unease.

"Davy, please…" Mike said, glancing at Peter, who was sweating from the effort of not blinking. Micky was undoubtedly going through the same thing. "Just answer me this—have I ever let you down before?"

Davy didn't answer, but it was clearly this comment that got him to salvage what he could of his nerves and clamber out the window and make it down. He immediately grabbed Mike's arm, just to reassure himself that the Texan was right there.

This seemed to give Mike an idea, though.

"Davy, I want you to take a quarter turn while still holding onto my arm."

Davy looked confused, but obeyed. Mike walked the both of them to where Micky was standing, his back to Mike's.

"Now take Micky's arm. And Peter, you fill in the square—take my other arm, and Mick's other arm."

"Oh, I get it!" Peter exclaimed, as he and Davy arranged themselves into the linked square, their backs to each other. "This way, we've got someone looking in all directions! The Angels won't be able to sneak up on us!"

"That's the general idea," Mike said, with a nod. "Now… we need to coordinate our movements. Let's start with heading in Peter's direction—to the sidewalk. Ten paces. Ready? And… step, two, three—"

Davy let out a squawk as he nearly fell over

"My legs aren't as long as yours!"

"Sorry. Let's try a shuffle, then, shall we? Peter, you tell us when we've reached the sidewalk."

This method of coordinating movements proved to be the most practical; as they headed further down Beechwood, they soon became aware that the Angels on the other side of the Pad—the ones that they couldn't see due to the house blocking their vision had ceased their attempts to break through the walls. In the flicker of an eyelid, they all appeared from the side of the Pad, freezing as Mike stared them down.

"This is a good temporary solution," Micky said. "But how do we get rid of them?"

"I'm still working on that…" the Texan said. He trailed off as he felt Davy's arm tremble again. "Come on, Tiny; I need you to stay strong here, okay?"

There was a moment when the boys' view of one of the Angels was temporarily cut off as they passed a tree; fully expecting the thing to approach them, they were surprised when they heard it hammer on one of the doors of the other houses.

"…That's Mrs. Purdy's place," Micky realized aloud, judging the distance by the level of the sound.

"Hurry!" Mike ordered.

They shuffled towards the house as the front door opened to reveal Mrs. Purdy in her bathrobe. Though they were in time to keep their eyes on the Angel, they were not in time to stop their poor neighbor from fainting on the spot as she saw the Angel's fangs bared mere inches from her own face.

And that was when all madness broke loose. In their hurry to aid Mrs. Purdy, Peter tripped, sending them all falling over. Mike screamed at them to get Mrs. Purdy inside; mercifully, Micky's eye contact with the Angel on her doorstep had not been broken, but the same could not be said for the others. Even as Davy, Mike, and Peter picked themselves up, they could see the entire crowd of Angels from up and down the street converging upon them.

Davy panicked; he tried to scramble away in desperation, but his foot had wrapped around Mrs. Purdy's garden hose, which was, at the moment attached to her sprinkler system. He cried out on a reflex, thinking one of the Angels had grabbed him, and in his struggle, he ended up turning on the sprinklers.

Micky and Peter and gotten Mrs. Purdy inside her house; Mike, still facing the crowd of assembled Angels as he backed away, picked Davy up and dragged him inside, as well, and slammed the door shut.

Davy immediately crashed to his knees, clutching his head in his hands as he trembled even more than before; Mike bolted the door closed before turning his attention to his bandmate, kneeling beside him and gently placing his hands on Davy's shoulders.

"I'm right here," he reminded him, softly. "You're safe with me, got it?"

He drew him into a hug before he could even reply.

"Davy…" Peter said, quietly, as he and Micky fanned Mrs. Purdy's face to try to revive her. "I know that none of us like those Weeping Angel things… but you really seem to hate them."

"Yeah, you've never acted like that before," Micky agreed. "You've always been the brave one."

"If you wanna talk about it, we're right here," Mike added.

Davy took a moment to catch his breath before answering.

"Have you ever had a moment from a long time ago—a moment that was so horrible but so unbelievable, you pushed it from your mind and convinced yourself you imagined the whole thing?" He glanced from Mike to Micky and then to Peter. "I've seen one of those things before—back in Manchester."

The others stared.

"When did that happen?" Micky asked.

"A long time ago," Davy said, suppressing a shudder. "I'd forgotten it after all this time, but when I saw the one on the beach when we were coming back…"

"That's why you got up in the middle of the night," Peter realized. "You weren't hungry—you remembered."

Davy nodded.

"Yeah," he confessed. "And then I went out to the living room and saw all of those sand ones at the window…" He shuddered. "I was only ten when I saw the one back in Manchester—I was out late one night playing soccer, and a storm started brewing up while I was heading back. Naturally, I wanted to get home as quick as possible, and the quickest way back was to cut through this old cemetery.

"It was too dark to see much, really, and it was scary enough with the lightning lighting things up for a second or two. But I noticed this old statue of an angel at one end of the cemetery, and in between the lightning flashes… I swear it moved. And it was getting closer and closer.

"I was scared, cold, and soaked by that point, so I ran. And this thing just kept getting closer—if I hadn't reached the gate when I did and started climbing it, it would've got me. But I was climbing up the gate, and I looked back, and…"

He trailed off, shuddering again.

"The lightning flashed one more time, and it was right there, reaching for me with the fangs showing—I was only _just_ out of reach of it. But that face—it was the most terrible thing I'd ever seen…"

He looked back at his bandmates.

"You didn't tell anyone about it?" Micky asked.

"No; I knew no one would believe me," Davy said.

"We would've," Peter declared.

"I know you would've; it really makes me wish I'd known you when I was a kid," Davy said. "But, anyway, I guess I wanted to make myself believe that it was just my imagination the entire time. And I thought it was—until today. I don't think I've ever been more scared…"

Mike was about to say something, but Mrs. Purdy chose that moment to awaken.

"You okay?" Peter asked her.

"I… I think so. Boys, what was that thing? You haven't been getting into any trouble, have you?"

"Ah… it's a creepy living sand sculpture," Micky said. "There's a whole bunch of them, and we're trying to put a stop to them."

"All's quiet now, though," Mike said. And then he frowned as he realized that it was true. "Wait, I really don't hear anything. But why…?"

Nervously, he took a glance out the window, staring.

"What is it?" Davy asked, quietly.

"They're all just standing there—not moving, even when we're not looking at them. They look really frustrated, though—like they want to come and rush us, but for some reason, they're not. And we left Mrs. Purdy's sprinkler on—sorry about that, Mrs. P…"

"Wait a minute…" Micky said. "That's it!"

"What's it?" Mike asked.

"The sprinkler! They're not coming any closer because of the sprinkler!" the brunet exclaimed. "They're sculptures when anything looks at them—meaning that if they froze and got soaked…"

Mike's eyes widened in realization.

"You've got an idea!" Peter exclaimed.

"I sure do," Mike said. "We've gotta slip out of here, though; we need to get to Mr. Babbitt's place down the street and get the fire hose."

Even Davy looked hopeful as he realized what Mike had planned.

"Oh, _yes_," Micky grinned, his eyes shining. "That'll do it!"

"But Mr. Babbitt said that the fire hose is only supposed to be used for emergencies only!" Mrs. Purdy pointed out.

"We're being overrun by creepy sand sculptures," Micky reminded her, with a shrug. "I think this qualifies."

"You'd probably better hide upstairs," Peter added, as he realized that this could get problematic. "You'll be safe up there."

"Mick, you and Pete help Mrs. Purdy up," Mike said.

They obeyed, despite Mrs. Purdy's protests, which allowed Mike a moment to talk to Davy.

"Tiny, look… I know you hate those things with a passion; if I'd gone through what you had, I probably would, too. I'm not going to force you to be a part of this; you can stay here with Mrs. Purdy if you like. But I'd feel a whole lot better if you were where I could look out for you."

Davy glanced out the window and cringed as he saw how many Angels were out there.

"They've got us outnumbered…"

"That's true," Mike said. "But haven't our chances always been the best whenever we stuck together?"

Davy nodded.

"That's true," he said. "And it's like you mentioned before—you've always pulled through. For all of us…"

He turned to face Mike and nodded.

"I'll go with you."

Mike smiled and placed a supportive hand on Davy's shoulder as Micky and Peter headed back downstairs.

"Mrs. Purdy has barricaded herself in her room," Micky announced. "And she is begging us not to do anything dangerous."

"Well, it's too late for that," Mike sighed. "Time for us to get back into the battle. I figure it's about 100 yards to Mr. Babbitt's place—we need to keep up our square formation for that long."

They linked arms again after opening the door. Davy gulped at the mass of Angels, but continued on, bravely.

The 100-yard shuffle to Mr. Babbitt's house seemed like an eternity, and as trees and parked cars temporarily blocked their line of vision, it became clear that the Angels knew exactly what the boys were planning; they quickly came as close as they could during those intervals, desperate to stop them.

"I see the fire hose!" Micky exclaimed. "It's hanging on the outside wall!"

"Go get it; we'll cover you!" Mike said.

The brunette did as he was told, still looking over his shoulder anyway out of nervousness as he was told. Mike accepted the hose from him and aimed it at the Angels.

Nothing happened.

"MICKY, TURN THE WATER ON!"

Micky gasped and turned back to do so… freezing in his tracks as he saw a bunch of Angels standing in front of the water valve. They can come from the other side of the house, determined not to let their army lose. Having succeeded, they had tried to attack Micky, who was closest; the brunet had only turned around just in time. The Angels had formed a semicircle around Micky, their arms creating a web of danger that would catch him if he moved even in the slightest.

"I can't reach it!" he whimpered.

By reflex, Mike, Peter, and Davy heard the fear in his voice and, turned to look at him; realizing what they had done, they quickly turned back.

The Angels in front of them had used the momentary lapse to crowd around them, as well. Arms were everywhere; Peter had to curve his spine back and stand in a most uncomfortable pose as Mike found himself unable to move an inch, either.

Davy was shaking again, even though he was in the safest position; hiding in between his friends due to his fear of the Angels, he was the least boxed in. His small stature was also a blessing in this case; out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see a few places where Davy could slip in and out to reach the water valve.

"Davy…" the Texan said, not taking his eyes off of the Angels immediately surrounding him. "Tiny… I'm gonna ask you to do the most difficult thing you've ever done, but I'm asking you because I know you can do it."

Davy let out an unintelligible squeak; he knew what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier.

"Davy, you need to turn on the water valve," Mike continued. "_Please_. Do this for me—for all of us. You're our only hope."

"Mike, I can't—"

"You broke the Golden Curse—of course you can!" Peter said. "You always pull through when we need you most!"

"And, man, we need you now more than ever," Micky gulped, also trembling.

Davy was still shaking as he got to his knees, crawling through the small gaps between the Angels. His eyes were fixed on the ones in the back—the ones that the other three wouldn't be able to cover. He got to his feet beside the valve, the face of one of the Angels only three inches away from his own.

"M-Mike…!" he yelped as he tried to move the valve, but failed. "Mike, it won't open! What do I do!?"

"Come on, Tiny," Mike said, encouragingly. "I believe in you!"

"We all do!" Micky added.

Davy strained his arms as he pulled on the valve; it was difficult to try to focus on that and not blink while staring down the Angel. He was already becoming dizzy in fear, which was sapping his strength further.

"You know something, Davy?" Peter asked, his voice pained as he continued to hold his bent-back pose. "I know you say that you haven't been more scared by anything as much as the Angels, but… I don't think that's true. I think there's something else that you're even more afraid of, and you know it, too; you know it because it's almost happened before—the last time it almost happened was in a temple in Peru."

Davy's eyes widened, and in his mind's eye, he remembered the feeling he had felt, thinking he had failed Mike, who was doomed to fall to the curse for all time.

Peter was right, of course. There _was_ something that Davy feared more than the Weeping Angels. And that thought was enough for the English boy to grit the teeth and finally turn the wheel to release the water valve.

And in the deluge that ensued as Mike carefully aimed the fire hose all around them, the sand Angels disappeared one by one, the water carrying the sand off towards the nearest storm drain; Mike wasn't satisfied until the sand had all been washed away.

Davy now closed the water valve, his knees finally giving out as Mike walked over to him. The Texan put the fire hose back on its spot on the wall and helped the English boy to his feet.

"You did good, Davy."

"I had some pretty good motivation," Davy said. He looked to the blond and managed a weak grin. "Thanks, Peter."

"Anytime, Davy. Anytime."

* * *

Not too keen on sticking around to see Mr. Babbitt awaken to discover his soaked lawn, the Monkees quickly made their way back to the Pad. Micky grabbed some soda pop bottles from the refrigerator and handed them out to his bandmates.

"I think we earned this," he said, raising his bottle. "A toast—to us, the Defenders of Beechwood Drive!"

The four bottles clinked together.

"I really don't know what's more amazing," Peter said. "That we actually won the Battle of Beechwood Drive, or the fact that we won it while we were still in our pajamas."

"Well, that reminds me," Mike drawled, after taking a swig of his drink. "Y'all better go and get dressed now."

"Dressed?" Davy asked. "It's two in the morning!"

"That well may be, but we're not staying here, remember?"

"You mean we're still leaving?" Micky asked, surprised. "Even though the Angels are gone?"

"You really think Zero is going to call it quits because of what just happened? Fat chance," Mike said. "And I, for one, have no desire to see what he's planning to spring on us next."

"Can't we wait until morning, though, like we originally planned?" Peter asked. "I mean, we really need to get some sleep."

"Mike may be right about going now, though," Davy said. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight without having nightmares; I may as well devote my energy to being on the run right now."

"Exactly," Mike said. "And it's not like we've still got to pack—we're already prepared to go. All we need to do is throw the suitcase into the back of the Monkeemobile and hightail it outta here. You three can sleep on the way if you're willing to brave the all-to-possible nightmares."

Davy vehemently shook his head and drank another gulp of his drink. He was fully prepared to take a second one or even make himself a cup of coffee if he had to; he didn't even want to risk nodding off.

Peter just shrugged in response, not quite sure of what he was going to do, but understanding the reasons for Mike's decision all the same.

"Oh, man, it's going to be a long night…" Micky moaned.

"Not half as long as it'll be if we're still here by the time Mr. Babbitt sees what we did to his lawn," Mike reminded him. "If you really want to risk facing _him_ in addition to whatever Zero has planned, I guess we can stay until morning."

Micky chugged down his soda and clapped his hands.

"Well, what are we waiting for!? Let's hit the high road before our good landlord jumps to conclusions—"

He was cut off by a pending on the front door.

"Too late," Micky groaned, his head hitting the table in frustration.

"I'll get it," Davy sighed. "Maybe I can charm him into going easy on us…"

"Well, if anyone could, it'd be you," Mike said. "You got this uncanny way of being able to charm everyone you meet."

"But how do we explain this to him, though?" Peter wondered aloud, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. "He'll never believe us if we told him what really happened!"

"Mrs. Purdy will back up our story," Davy reminded him, as he walked to the door. "But let's try my plan first."

Mike chuckled and took another swig from his drink as Davy opened the peephole as he always did, despite not being able to see a thing due to his lack of height.

"Now before you say anything, I know we made a mess of your lawn, but we've got a good explanation for why we—"

He was suddenly cut off in midsentence. Mike turned to the door to see what had happened, and he froze to see nothing but an empty spot where Davy had been standing.

"Davy?" he asked, panic rising in his voice. "DAVY!?"

And that was when he saw it—sticking through the little grate of the peephole was a stone finger. The realization hit Mike like a ton of bricks; they had been so preoccupied with the sand Angels that they had completely forgotten about the solitary stone one.

And it had just claimed Davy from right under their very noses.


	5. Timey Wimey

Peter had heard terrible sounds in his life before—sirens in the dead of night… the crunching sounds of colliding cars… once, the sound of a gunshot three streets away. But nothing—nothing he had ever heard before—could ever be as horrible as the gut-wrenching cry of agony that tore from Mike's lips.

"Mike…!" he exclaimed, as he and Micky got to their feet.

Mike had already torn across the room once he had seen Davy vanish and threw the door open.

The stone Angel stood there, but the most unsettling thing about it was the smile upon its face.

Mike stared at the Angel for a moment before seizing a nearby wooden chair and repeatedly clouting the Angel with the chair.

"Give him back!" the Texan roared. "GIVE. HIM. _BACK_!"

But the Angel continued to stand motionless, its smile mercilessly mocking Mike's misery.

Mike let out another unintelligible roar lunging at the Angel with his bare hands, but he never reached it; Micky and Peter had both grabbed him and pulled him back. Micky shut the door and started barricading it in case the Angel decided to try to go for the rest of them as his mind raced, trying to find a solution.

With the door closed and the Angel out of view, Mike's rage soon dissipated as Peter continued to hold him back and was soon replaced by sorrow as the full horror of what just happened came crashing down on him.

"Mike…?" Peter asked again. "Mike, I won't believe that Davy's gone forever—deep down, you know it, too, don't you?"

"Peter's right," Micky said, once his barricade was in place. "We just have to find a way to reach him, wherever he is. But there's gotta be one—there's always a way!"

"No…" Mike said, hollowly. "No; not with Zero pulling the strings. He'd make it so that it wouldn't be possible…" Mike trailed off as his gaze fell on their instruments that had been arranged by the suitcase near the door.

With trembling hands, Mike picked up Davy's tambourine, staring at it as he allowed the tears to fall from his eyes.

"We were gonna be on the run together—all four of us," he said, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to keep from openly sobbing. "It would've been tough and uncomfortable, but we would've been together… We were ready to leave… We were so close—SO CLOSE!"

Peter and Micky now both hugged Mike, blinking back their own tears.

"You can't give up on Davy, Mike!" Peter pleaded. "He's out there, somewhere in time, and he needs us! He needs you!"

"He doesn't need me; _I'm_ the one who got him into this!" Mike cried, the realization of this hurting him deeper. "I told him I'd look after him… He was so scared… He was counting on me…"

His own words were coming back to haunt him.

"_Have I ever let you down before?"_

"_You're safe with me, got it?"_

"_Haven't our chances always been the best whenever we stuck together?"_

A fresh wave of pain and guilt washed over Mike. Davy had trusted him—believed him, putting aside his own fear of the Weeping Angels to help him. And Mike couldn't even successfully protect him in return.

Peter now hugged Mike as he broke down further.

"Micky," the blond said, softly. "Call Professor Song. If anyone will know how to get Davy back, it's her." He turned his attention back to Mike as Micky nodded and ran to the phone. "Mike, I know there's a way. And you know it, too—you and Davy found it together in the caverns, remember?"

Mike looked up at Peter.

"The El Dorado…" he whispered. "But we still don't know where in time Davy is; having a time machine doesn't matter if we don't know when or where to go…"

"And that's where the professor will help," Peter said.

"I got her on the phone!" Micky announced. "Hello, Professor!? We… we got a huge problem here; the Angel got Davy and…" He trailed off. "You knew?!"

Something in Mike snapped; he angrily pulled away from Peter's embrace and grabbed the phone from Micky.

"You knew?!" he echoed Micky. "You knew this was gonna happen, and you didn't even have the decency to warn us!? All you could do was just stand there saying that you were sorry for something that you knew was coming!? You could've warned us! We could've been outta here before that thing made its army of sand clones, and we wouldn't have lost Davy to that thing!"

Micky certainly wasn't about to stop Mike from giving her an earful; he was stunned that the professor hadn't warned them, either. Even Peter looked hurt by this revelation, and though he flinched as Mike yelled, he didn't stop him, either.

"Davy is lost somewhere in the space-time continuum at the hands of something that's _terrified_ him since he was a kid—all because you had to be all mysterious!" Mike went on. "Do you even realize what you've done!?"

"This isn't the first thing I've done that I've regretted," Professor Song replied, calmly. "And it won't be the last. But I couldn't tell you; this was a Fixed Point—if I had told you, you would've done whatever it would've taken to stop it from happening—"

"DARN RIGHT!"

"—And you would've ended up destroying the space-time continuum in the process!" she retorted. "I _told_ you that Fixed Points can't be changed; this _had_ to happen!"

Mike stared at nothing as he tried to grasp her words.

"…So that's it, then?!" he fumed, once it had sunk in. "The past four years I spent with Davy—forming our act, forming the Monkees, and forming an _irreplaceable_ friendship—was all so that he could be a sacrificial lamb?!"

"I didn't say—"

"Because let me tell you one thing right now," Mike said. "I don't care about the continuum. I care about my friend—my brother! Maybe I'm selfish—I don't pretend to be an altruist. But this is cruel—to allow me and the rest of us to get close to him, only to take him away?!"

"Will you listen to me?!" the professor exclaimed, sternly. She succeeded in sending Mike into a stunned silence.

Even Micky and Peter froze, able to hear her.

"What?" Mike asked, icily.

"I said that David getting touched by the Weeping Angel was a Fixed Point," she said. "But I didn't say that him staying trapped in the past had to be Fixed. That can still change if you move before it's too late—and before it becomes Fixed."

"And everything will be okay?" Mike asked.

"Yes… and no," the professor confessed. "If you remove David from that point in time, you'll be depriving the Angel of its food source—"

"Food source!?" Mike screamed, having a sudden, horrifying vision of the Weeping Angel biting Davy's neck like a vampire.

"Will you relax?!" Professor Song chided. "They're not feeding on _him_; I told you, they feed off of the years their victim would have lived in the present had they not been sent back. But you need to get David away from that point in the timeline before something irreversible happens to him there—if something happens to him, it'll become Fixed. The Angel is banking on something to happen. It'll also be a Fixed Point if too much time passes for David—if he begins to age in the past, then there's no hope for him.

"But even if you rescue David in time and the Angel loses its source of nourishment, it doesn't mean that things are going to return to normal. David has been marked by the Angel's touch—that Angel, and any other Angels that may exist out there will be able to trace his scent through time and space. They'll be after him until they can try to send him back again to get that food source back."

Mike inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm down.

"Well, we won't let them get him again," he vowed.

There wasn't the usual conviction in his voice, though; he had already broken one promise. How could he be sure that he could keep this one?

"You can worry about that after you find him," the Professor said. "Remember, it's useless if the point becomes Fixed; then nothing can help him."

"Okay," Mike said. "Okay, then. Where is he? _When_ is he? How do we get him back? And what do we need to watch out for?"

Professor Song hesitated.

"The first thing to do is to find out where in time he was sent back to," she said. "And there's no easy way to do that, other than this: Micky has my Vortex Manipulator. If the Angel hasn't moved its position, Micky can be sent back in time to the exact same point in space and time that David was sent to; he can then send a message via the Vortex Manipulator that the TARDIS can home in on."

"If the Angel hasn't moved?" Mike repeated. He stared at the closed door in horror. "Open the door!" he bellowed. "NOW!"

Even as Micky removed the barricade, Mike knew that it was too much to hope for; sure enough, when the brunet opened the door, there was absolutely nothing on the other side; the Angel had fled.

"It's gone," Mike said, hollowly. "It's gone without a trace."

Professor Song exhaled.

"That doesn't make sense for it to flee while it knows that the three of you are still inside. Weeping Angels are greedy and hungry; they'll send anyone back if they can get their hands on them," she said.

"Mr. Zero probably moved it so that we wouldn't be able to use it to send us to Davy," Peter said, quietly. "He wants to make us as miserable as possible; keeping Davy away from us like this is the best way to do it… But we won't let him win."

"That's right," Micky said, closing the door, feeling guilty for making the barricade in the first place. "The Professor has a plan B, right?"

But Professor Song had fallen silent.

"Professor?" Mike asked, quietly. Peter and Micky looked to him; never before had Mike sounded so lost. "Professor please… Please say there's another way…"

"I'm sorry," she said, softly. "I truly am. But there's nothing you can do if you don't know where in time he is. Listen to me, though—you mustn't stop trying to find him. What you need to do is _think_."

"Yeah," Mike mumble. "I'll… I'll do that."

Mike set the phone down, looking blankly at nowhere.

"She said think," Peter said. "Think about… what?"

"I don't know," Mike said. "And it doesn't really matter, does it? We've only got a limited amount of time to find Davy. There's so much history to look though; how will we even know where to start looking?"

"You're not even going to look?!" Peter asked, sharply. Mike and Micky both stared at the blond as he spoke sternly. "I expected better from you, Mike. And you know what? So does Davy! He's out there, somewhere, waiting for us to find him—waiting for you. How's he going to feel when he finds out that the one person he believed in gave up?"

"I really don't think I'm the best person to help Davy right now," Mike said, quietly. "I didn't do so well trying to keep him safe now. How am I supposed to do this right?"

"By not giving up, Mike. If this is how you're going to take this, then… I don't think I know you like I thought I did."

"Peter… I'll never give up. Not on Davy. You know that." The Texan sighed. "I'm giving up on me."

"What?" Peter asked, softly.

"I think my time as leader of the Monkees is over. I can't protect you guys anymore—what happened here tonight proves it. One of you needs to take over for me. I can't do this anymore—not without risking more damage to all of you guys."

Peter gave Mike a look.

"I'd say that something like that has to be a unanimous decision among all four of us," he said. "What do you think, Micky?"

Micky didn't reply, and it was then that they realized that they hadn't heard a word from him since checking the door.

"Micky—!"

But Micky was fine; he was just deep in thought as he leaned against the closed door, mumbling something under his breath.

"The way she said '_think'_ was as though she knows that there's a clue we're missing. I don't know why she couldn't just tell us, but maybe we already know what we need to in order to find Davy…"

"What _do_ we know?" Mike asked.

Micky's eyes suddenly widened.

"We know where Davy is!" he said, running over to grab Mike by the shoulders. "We already know!"

"What!? How!?" Mike asked.

"Don't you guys remember? When we were in Peru and Davy was facing off against the Forbidden One's spirit to break the curse, the Forbidden One said that they'd already met 3000 years ago in Ancient Egypt!"

"That's right!" Peter exclaimed, cheering up now that there was some hope. "Davy faced off against him when the Forbidden One was still a beast, and Davy was able to defeat him. And the reason why Davy had absolutely no idea what he was talking about was because it hadn't happened to him yet—it's only happening now!"

Mike threw his hands up in frustration, though, which surprised and startled his bandmates.

"What's the matter?" Micky asked. "We know where to go now—let's go get Davy back!"

"That 3000 years is just an estimate, remember? Our timing has to be perfect, otherwise we can't pull Davy from the timeline!" Mike said. "More than that, Davy's facing the Forbidden One all on his own!"

"We just have to look him up," Peter said. "The Forbidden One also said that the Egyptians had their own name for Davy—_Djonessu_. If we can find out where in history that name is mentioned—"

"Anything in _any_ history book will always be an estimate!" Mike quipped back. "There's no room for any mistakes here—not even one! I need an exact date—something that would be completely accurate and give us a point…" He trailed off. "And I know exactly what that would be!"

Peter grinned to see the confident look return to Mike's eyes, and he and Micky watched as Mike ran for the suitcase they had packed and pulled out the Book of Ages. Peter's smile began to fade.

"Mike…? What are you going to do with that? Professor Song said that we're not supposed to read—"

"At this point, I don't really care what she said," Mike retorted. "This book will tell us what we need to know, and…" He trailed off. "And the darn page is one of the missing ones. Of course it would be…"

He slammed the book shut in frustration.

"Mike, we're so close; don't give up now!" Peter said. "I know we can figure this out and get Davy back!"

"You know more than I do, Shotgun," Mike said, quietly; once again, he sounded lost and forlorn. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore—I really don't."

"Mike, please don't say that!" Micky said. "We're so close—we're on the right track! There's just one more piece of the puzzle we need to put together!"

"Then you two brainstorm this thing," Mike said. "I can't think anymore—not like this. I need a moment alone to clear my head."

Peter cleared his throat as Mike headed out the back exit.

"Just be careful, Mike," he said. "That Weeping Angel is still out there. You don't want it to get you, too."

"I almost wish…" Mike trailed off, not finishing that thought; he closed the door behind him and walked down the beach.

He had walked down this beach so many times before—on his own, when he first rented the Pad from Mr. Babbitt, and then during chats with Davy and later all four of them. Mike's heart twisted as he recalled the memories.

"Davy," he said, softly. "I'm so sorry, Tiny. But, you know what? Peter's right—we're close. And I'm going to do whatever I can to find you. I just wish I knew exactly what to do…"

"Stymied for ideas, Michael?" an all-too-familiar voice purred, sending a chill down Mike's spine. "I can get David back for you—for a price, of course."

Mike didn't even have to turn around to know that Mr. Zero was behind him.


	6. Time Could Not Keep this Heart

A mix of emotions were swelling within the Texan's heart—anger and fear being the most dominating. Yet, when he turned to face Mr. Zero, Mike was incredibly calm.

"Well, you're _right_ on cue, aren't you?" he asked, hoping that the quiver in his voice wasn't noticeable.

Mr. Zero smirked.

"Of course. It's only fair that I help repair things here—pay for what my handiwork has done. Just as you need to pay for what your handiwork has done," he said. "Because we both know that this is your fault."

"You were the one who sicced the Angel on us!" Mike retorted.

"But you were the one who promised poor David—poor, frightened David—that you wouldn't let anything happen to him," Zero reminded him. "What do you think is going through his mind right now? He's completely alone, stranded in the past—not a soul to turn to. How long do you think a young man can stay sane in a situation like that?"

"Davy is strong," Mike said, trying to reassure himself with those words more than anything else.

"Well, he certainly didn't pick that up from _you_," Zero scoffed. "But it doesn't matter, does it? He is lost to history; he no longer has any relevance in this age. Such is his fate… unless you're willing to make a deal."

"Let me guess," Mike said, quietly. "My soul in exchange for Davy's safe return?"

"Precisely."

"That still leaves us as a trio," the Texan said. "How is that any better than our situation right now?"

"Because the most deserving will have his chance to live," Zero said. "Do you not agree that David deserves his happy life back more than you?"

Mike looked down at his feet, face burning with shame.

"Yes…" he said. "He deserves all the happiness in the world."

"And he can't be happy trapped forever in the past, now can he?"

"Of course not," Mike said. "But how can he be happy knowing that I made a deal with you to get him back?"

"Do you honestly think that David still feels kindly towards you after everything you've put him through?!" Zero asked, laughing. "After being hurled through the Time Vortex and left all alone by the thing he feared most, you would be most fortunate if the boy could spare so much as a kind thought for you!"

Mike cringed.

"At this point in time, the only decent thing you can do is make this deal with me and save him!

Zero snapped his fingers, and a contract and pen appeared in his hands.

"You know how it works," he said. "Just sign on the dotted line, and the deal will be made. In fact, I am feeling generous enough to allow you to say goodbye to David before I take you—assuming, of course, that he'd be bothered to say goodbye to the one who put him through so much misery."

Mike stared at the contract for a moment, his thoughts running through his head at a mile a minute. He exhaled, making his decision.

"No," he said.

Zero frowned.

"No? You're abandoning poor David to his terrible fate?"

"I'll never abandon Davy," Mike vowed. "Never. But it's going to be a cold day in your neighborhood before I sign one of your contracts. I was just thinking about how I hadn't wanted Davy to make a deal with the Forbidden One to save me from the golden curse. I know that even if Davy hates me right now for what I've put him through—and he has every right to—the last thing he would want would be for me to make a deal with you."

"Are you so certain?"

"Yeah. Davy's a good person. He won't let his anger or hatred for me cloud that part of his judgment," the Texan said. "He couldn't hate a person that much."

"If there's one thing I've learned in my entire existence—and it has been a very long one—it's that there is no limit to how much a person can hate," Zero said.

"There's also no limit to how much a person can love," Mike retorted. A smirk twitched upon his lips. "And that's what I'm counting on."

"The love and friendship you seem to rely on so much will not always prevail," Zero warned him.

"It's done its work so far," Mike said. "The four of us have gotten through years' worth of hardships—and Davy and I go back even further than that."

"All things must end, Michael," came the reply. And Mike saw the unspoken addendum in Zero's eyes—_If not by the Weeping Angel, then by some other means; I'll see to it myself if I have to_.

Something snapped in the Texan as he realized that, and without even thinking, he charged at Mr. Zero, aiming a solid punch at that smug smirk… that never hit its target; Zero raised a hand and swept his arm aside, the motion sent Mike flying backwards across the expanse of beach, stopping as he collided with the seaweed-covered TARDIS, still parked where he and Davy had hidden it after their first and last trip.

He sat there, stunned for a moment, when two voices called his name, jolting him back to awareness while simultaneously bringing a scowl to Mr. Zero's face.

"Mike!" Peter was yelling, horrified.

"Mike, are you okay?!" Micky cried, as they both ran over to him.

They had been going over the notes of the Forbidden One that Davy's grandfather had copied—and that Professor Song had translated during their last adventure—in the hopes of further narrowing down the time period where Davy had been sent to. Peter had just happened to glance out the alcove windows and had seen Mr. Zero; neither he nor Micky had been about to let things go any further; Micky had even dragged their suitcase out and was using it as a shield.

A slight smile managed to find its way to Mike's face in spite of himself as Zero furiously glared at Micky and Peter.

"What's your damage, man?!" Micky asked, trying not to betray his fear as he looked out from the suitcase-shield. "Why can't you just leave us alone?!"

"We never meant to cause any trouble for you!" Peter added. "All I wanted was a harp—not any of this!"

"Well, now you've got it!" Zero retorted. "And it will not end until I have your pathetic excuse for a leader in my grasp! Ideally, I'd have all four of you, but I'm willing to settle for just one."

"Well, we're not letting you get him," Peter vowed, gripping Mike's shoulder.

The Texan gave his head a shake, trying to clear off the mental cobwebs from his collision. His head leaned against the wooden door of the TARDIS, and that was when he suddenly became aware of an odd sound.

It was the sound of a high-pitched musical instrument—a wind instrument. A recorder? No… An ocarina…

Mike shut his eyes, trying to concentrate. And that was when he realized that he recognized the tune: "I Wanna Be Free."

Mike's eyes snapped open.

"Davy…!"

Everyone stared at him now as Mike struggled to his feet, getting the key out of the band of his woolhat. He barely noticed them; his mind could only register the fact that Davy must have had the ocarina with him when the Angel sent him back in time—and, somehow, that ocarina was something the TARDIS could pick up on.

"Micky! Peter! Inside! Now!"

Zero's scowl deepened as Mike unlocked the door and practically pulled his bandmates inside. They didn't even bother taking a moment to appreciate the time machine's spacious interior; a video panel on the console was relaying the sound waves of the ocarina.

"That song!" Micky exclaimed. "That's—!"

"Davy!" Peter gasped.

"Exactly," Mike said, randomly pressing some buttons on the console panel. The TARDIS make a couple of noises in protest at this action, and then began to guide Mike on what to do, slowly locking in on the exact point in the space-time continuum that the song was coming from.

"Keep playing, Davy," Mike pleaded. "Just a little bit more; I've almost got your position pinpointed… Come on, El Dorado—you gotta come through for me here… Please…" He held his breath as the console whirred, and a date, time, and location appeared on the console's monitor.

_2235hrs 7/7, 1288 BC, Thebes (Luxor), Egypt_

Mike stared at the date, hardly daring to believe it.

"Is that it?" Peter asked.

"I… I think so," Mike said, quietly.

There was silence as the ocarina stopped playing, but the date, time, and location remained on the panel.

"So, what are we waiting for?" Micky asked.

Mike sighed.

"Look, we don't know what's waiting for us there—Zero's probably listening in on every word we're saying right now. He'll probably have a whole bunch of nasty things in store to stop us from getting Davy back."

"What are you saying?" Peter asked.

"I'm saying that it's going to be dangerous," Mike said. "And that I'm not going to force you to come along—"

"Save it," Micky said, with a wave of his hand. "This is for Davy; of course we're in."

"No matter what," Peter agreed.

Mike managed a smile and nodded, confirming the date on the panel and throwing the lever to start it.

"Hang in there, Davy," Mike said, as a _vwoorp-vwoorp-vwoorp_ sound filled the air. "We're coming to bring you home."

* * *

The journey through time and space, though brief, was far bumpier and violent than the last time Mike had used the El Dorado. He couldn't account for it, save for the possibility that Zero tearing the pages from the Book of Ages had, indeed, made the continuum turbulent.

Micky, who had brought the suitcase he had been using as a shield, now opened it, looking for their eight-button shirts.

"We're going to wear those in Ancient Egypt?" Peter asked. "Shouldn't we wear something that would help us fit in?"

"Yeah, but I don't have any easy access to ancient fashion styles," the brunet said.

"Luckily, the El Dorado's got rooms full of stuff," Mike said, arriving from one of the rooms with some Egyptian garb. "This'll help us fit in visually; dunno what we'll do about the language barrier, though—guess we'll just have to do the best we can…"

Peter opened the door to the outside, blinking.

"They're speaking English," he said, amazed.

"That's not possible," Micky said, shaking his head.

The console whirred again, causing the three to turn to face it.

"Translation matrix, huh?" Mike asked. "That'll help us out a lot—now all we have to do is ask around for Davy. Someone has to have seen him…"

One quick-change later, the three left the TARDIS in a back alley as they soon found themselves in the local marketplace. Their hairstyles garnered them some odd looks, despite the proper clothing; this proved to be an inconvenience, for whenever they would approach someone to ask about Davy, the person would usually flee, mistaking them as being prepared to chide them for staring.

It was a traveling soothsayer, calmly walking beside a cat; he beckoned the boys to him.

"Why do you fret, Children? Good fortune is due to befall us. The hero destined to save us from the Forbidden One has been found—he who goes by the name of Djonessu! Early this morning, before the dawn rose, they found him, as it was foretold, unconscious in the desert."

"Unconscious!?" Mike repeated, going pale.

"Is he okay?" Peter asked. "Where is he now?!"

"He is in the palace of the great Pharaoh, being tended to. Once his strength has recovered, the Pharaoh will send the great Djonessu to face the Forbidden One so that he can save us all! So, you see, there is nothing to fear—rejoice!"

The soothsayer continued down the street, the cat following him with a swish of its tail. Mike could only stare.

"So… they're giving Davy the royal treatment now… just so that they can send him to fight that thing—all alone?" Micky asked.

"Does he even realize what they're setting him up for?" Peter wondered aloud.

"He might even be too weak to even process what's going on," Mike said. "That guy just said that they found him passed out in the desert; I mean… what has Davy _been_ through?" And, unbidden, came the question that Zero had planted in his head—would Davy ever forgive him?

It was Micky's next words that jolted him back to reality.

"So… what do we do now?"

Mike looked to the others, suppressing his own doubts.

"We're going to get into that palace," he vowed.


	7. You Can't Fight Fate

Finding their way to the palace was relatively easy; the structure loomed tall and proud, visible from where they were located. It was as they approached the palace that it soon became clear as to what the challenge would be—slipping past the crowd of tradesmen and guards to get to the interior.

"There're so many people; there's no way we'll get in without anyone seeing us!" Micky said.

"Well, why can't we just go up and tell them that we're friends of Davy?" Peter asked.

"Because our words will mean nothing to them," Mike said, cynically. "They'd probably ask Davy if we were telling the truth. And he could be so out of it that he wouldn't recognize us, or worse—he could be so mad at me that he'd…"

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Davy wouldn't do that," Peter said.

"He might not even be himself anymore. It's like Zero said," Mike replied. "Davy was sent hurtling through the Time Vortex by something that he hated—something that I had promised to protect him from. I stand by what I said to Zero—that Davy is too good a person to want to see me hurt or worse. But… in his current state, it's very likely that he wouldn't want to see me at all." He looked to his bandmates. "You guys know that I've known Davy since he was fourteen. I've spent all that time looking out for him, always being there for him, promising that I wouldn't let anything happen to him. Tell me one thing, Fellas—what would either of you do if the other had made a promise to keep you safe from the thing that scared you the most, and then broke that promise, leaving you stranded alone in a strange place where you didn't know anyone or could even communicate with? Left you alone in a desert, exhausted and starving and who knows what else?"

Micky gave Peter a look.

"I wouldn't blame anyone for that," Micky said, at last. "I'm sure Davy knows that you did everything humanly possible."

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" Mike's voice cracked as he continued. "They found him unconscious in the desert—_unconscious_. He'd probably passed out from the heat. He probably didn't even think he'd make it…"

Peter placed a hand on Mike's shoulder as he trailed off a second time, a tear escaping him again. The Texan took a moment to regain his composure.

"Okay," he sighed. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to create a diversion. Once I've drawn everyone's attention, you two sneak inside the courtyard. Make your way inside and find Davy."

Micky cleared his throat.

"Actually, Mike, I think I oughta create the diversion," he said. "I mean, come on—you know me. I can ham it up and hog the spotlight; I love being the center of attention. Just leave it to me."

Mike glanced back at Micky for a moment and nodded.

"Fine," he said. "I'll help you with the diversion; Peter, you go in and find Davy."

"Mike, I really think you should be the one to find Davy," Peter said. "You're going to be beating yourself up about this, and I don't think you should put yourself through that. And once you see Davy safe and sound and happy to see you again, it'll hopefully help you move past that."

"And what if he _isn't_ happy to see me again?" Mike asked, a pained look in his eyes. "What happens then?!"

"Then you show him that you'll always continue to do your best to help him," Peter said. "I'll help Micky with the diversion; it's important for both you and Davy that you be the one to find him."

"I want to, Peter," Mike said. "I want to, but…" He shook his head. Who was he to burden Peter—or any of the others—with his troubles? "Okay, then. I'll go in. But you two make your diversion a good one, got it?"

Micky, who had been looking around at the crowd, gave Mike a reassuring nod.

"Trust me—we've got this," he said, pulling a candy bar from his pocket. "This little thing here is going to be all that we need."

He beckoned Peter to follow as he approached a man carrying a lyre and began to negotiate borrowing the lyre in exchange for the candy bar. Mike arched an eyebrow, as did the lyre player, but Micky's deliberately loud praising of the candy bar was beginning to draw attention to the sweet, which the brunet was waving with the intention of it being seen. Peter got the hint and soon began talking about the candy bar, as well and requesting the lyre player to let them borrow the instrument.

To Mike's astonishment, the crowd was taking interest in this scene. And as Micky and Peter began to draw even more attention, the Texan soon found an opening to slip into the palace courtyard unseen. From there, it was a matter of hiding behind statues until he entered the structure.

Silently thanking the fact that electricity hadn't been harnessed yet, Mike hugged the shadows of the corridors. A couple times, he had to hide from passersby and guards, his heart hammering in his chest.

He soon lost count of how many rooms he had checked as he made his way through the palace; he eventually found himself on one of the upper floors. He froze as he passed one room; someone was awake; a standing silhouette was visible against the moon shining from a balcony window, staring out into the night.

But it was the figure's height that caught Mike's vision most of all.

"Davy…?" he whispered, as he entered the room.

The figure's shoulders went rigid; Mike saw him turn around, sharply. With the moon behind him, Mike couldn't see his face—he had no idea what his expression was.

The Texan steeled himself, now stepping into the moonlight to reveal his face. He heard a gasp of surprise, and Mike knew that he had to speak before he was thrown out.

"Tiny," he said, softly. "I'm so sorry. I know I let you down, and what I did was absolutely unforgivable—"

The words got lost as the figure suddenly threw his arms around him, and Mike soon found himself in the tightest embrace he had ever felt—and he could also feel the figure's frightened trembling.

"Mike…" a familiar voice squeaked. "Mike, are you… are you really…?" The figured shuddered. "Is this… _real_?"

The Texan felt a lump growing in his own throat, and he now returned the embrace, once again allowing the tears to escape his eyes as he did so.

"You know, I'm asking myself the same thing," he confessed.

Davy tightened his embrace in response.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again…" he said. The way his voice was breaking, it was clear that he was crying, too.

"I didn't think you'd _want_ to," Mike confessed.

"How could you even _think_ that?!" the English boy asked, clinging to Mike as though he was a lifeline.

"I… uh… Zero sorta put the idea into my head, and I was beginning to believe it…"

"You saw him?!" Davy gasped. "Is he here?"

"Back in Malibu—in our time. He wanted to make a deal with me to get you back to us." Mike hesitated. "I did consider taking him up on his offer."

"What—!?"

"You can calm down, Tiny. I turned him down in the end. But let me tell you—I was…" He trailed off; Davy had pulled back in the shock of hearing about the almost-deal, and Mike, for the first time, saw the shape he was in.

Davy had a few bruises on his face and arms, and Mike was sure that there would be more on the rest of him. The Texan felt yet another wave of guilt wash over him.

"Davy, what happened to you…?"

The English boy glanced down at his bruised arms.

"I ended up in the desert after the Angel got me," he said, quietly. "There was a gang of thieves that started after me once I wandered over to their hideout. I didn't have anything except the ocarina, and they thought it was worthless. So when they found out that they'd spent several hours chasing down someone who didn't have anything worth taking, well…" He winced, and Mike cringed in sympathy, as well. "Let's just say that they were rather sore sports about the whole thing. I don't really remember much after that—I woke up here, in the palace. I've had the hardest time trying to communicate, but they've been treating me very well—the Pharaoh himself checked up on me; it's like I'm a VIP or something."

"Ah, yeah—about that…" Mike said, not sure how to break it to him. "There's a reason why they've been giving you the royal treatment; they had a prophecy that—"

A sudden commotion distracted them both; the crowd was chattering loudly, and that was when Micky's voice belted out, struggling to make himself heard as he sang while someone accompanied him on the lyre.

"_Take the last boat to Giza, and I'll meet you by the Nile_…"

"Micky's here, too? _What_ is he doing?" Davy asked.

"Mick and Pete just couldn't stay away; I expect you knew that, though. We needed a diversion so that one of us could get in. Micky was trying to negotiate borrowing a lyre by trading a chocolate bar—guess the guy went for it."

A grin spread across Davy's face, despite himself.

"Typical Micky," he said. "I guess that's Peter accompanying him? The crowd seems to like it…" He blinked. "How can I understand them now?"

"The El Dorado has a translation thing," Mike said. "I dunno how it works, but I'm not going to question it. Anyway, we need to sneak you out of here and take you home—Professor Song said that if you stay here too long, it'll be a Fixed Point, and you won't be able to leave."

"I don't want that," Davy said, immediately. "Let's go—"

He was cut off by a voice from the hall demanding an explanation for Micky's singing, and Davy gulped.

"Who's that?" Mike asked.

"That would be the Pharaoh. I think Micky just woke him up."

"Oh, boy…"

"You will bring the ones responsible for this disturbance to me at once!" the king was saying. "They will answer for this!"

"Dear One," the queen's voice replied. "They aren't hurting anyone; I found that little performance quite amusing!"

"Nevertheless," the Pharaoh replied, audibly annoyed.

"We have to go out there and help," Davy said. "He seems to have taken a liking to me; maybe I can convince him to let Micky and Peter off."

"Yeah, about that taking a liking to you…" Mike said, but he was interrupted again as Davy headed out of the room.

The Texan followed him, but quickly froze in his tracks as the Pharaoh and the queen noticed him and Davy.

"Who is this intruder?!" the Pharaoh demanded, glaring at Mike. "How did he get inside the palace?!"

"I'm sorry, Great Pharaoh," Davy said, bowing. "But he and the two creating the din outside are my dearest friends."

The Pharaoh arched an eyebrow as he, finally, was able to understand Davy, thanks to the translation matrix.

"You don't have to explain anything," Mike said. "It's up to me." He cleared his throat and bowed, as well. "Look, uh… I'm really sorry for intruding like this, but it's true; I know you've got that prophecy and all that saying that Davy was going to turn up here and help you guys out, but… He wasn't here by choice. He was taken from us by a monstrous creature and left in the desert against a gang of thieves. We've been worried for his well-being; for a while, we didn't even know if we would ever see him again, so we just had to make sure he was okay…" Mike's throat tightened. "It was my duty to protect him, and I failed. I can only thank you for looking after him when I couldn't." He looked up from the bow to make eye contact with the king. "You may punish me in any way that you see fit; I only ask that you do not punish my companions for what was my error."

The room was soon filled with Micky and Peter's protests as they were brought in by the palace guards and taken before the Pharaoh. The king eyed the three of them suspiciously, his glare prompting the two to fall silent as he turned back to Mike.

"You stand there, in my sacred halls without an invitation, dressed in that most offensive woolen headdress, and have the audacity to ask that I listen to you?"

Mike lowered his gaze, hastily removing his woolhat.

"What is your name, Boy?" the Pharaoh demanded.

"Nesmith, Your Honor," the Texan said. "Mike Nesmith."

"Well, then, Nemeseth…"

Mike almost corrected him, but thought better of it.

"…I will grant your request. Those two are free to go or stay here," the Pharaoh said, glancing derisively at Micky and Peter. "As for you—"

"Please!" Davy pleaded, stepping forward now. "You heard what he said—everything he did, he did because he had to make sure I was safe. He has selflessly looked after me for the past four years." Davy hesitated. "I've owed him my life, more than once. And, more than once, he risked his neck to ensure my safety, just as he is doing now. I implore you, Great Pharaoh, to grant him mercy."

The Pharaoh now glanced at Davy with a searching gaze. It wasn't as harsh as the looks he had given to the others, which Davy took to be a good sign.

"Very well, Nemeseth; at the request of our champion, Djonessu, I release you, as well, to do as you wish." He turned to his aide. "See that they have rooms, if they decide to stay."

Deciding to wash their hands of the matter, the king and queen returned to their chamber as the servants opened and prepared rooms for the others. Davy just grinned at the others, hugging them close.

"I can't believe you're all here," he said, overcome. "I really missed you. Glad I could help get you out of hot water, too—it's lucky that they seem to have taken a liking to me."

Micky and Peter, who had been grinning back, quickly sobered.

"You didn't tell him?" Micky asked.

Davy blinked.

"Tell me what?"

"I've been trying," Mike said. "Kept getting interrupted. Davy, there's a reason why they've taken a liking to you; they're got a prophecy that says that you're going to be a hero that'll help them in their hour of need against…"

"Against what?" Davy prompted, as Mike trailed off. "Mike, what are you trying to say?"

"Well… Do you remember how, in Peru, the Forbidden One was going on about how you defeated him once before, but you didn't know what he was talking about?" Mike asked, carefully choosing his words.

"Yeah, I kinda do," Davy said. "He said that we crossed paths three thousand years before, but…" The English boy trailed off, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "This… this is… _that_!?"

Mike placed a hand on Davy's shoulder.

"After you vanished, Professor Song said that it was a Fixed Point—it had to happen so that you could face the Forbidden One now and seal him in that medallion."

But Davy shook his head.

"No…" he said, looking from each of his friends to the other. "No, I can't do it! I won't do it!"

"Davy…" Peter said, softly. "It's going to be okay. You win, remember? You already know what's going to happen."

"I don't know everything," Davy reminded him. "Bad things could still happen, and I've seen enough—been through enough!"

The guilt returned to Mike, even though he knew Davy hadn't meant it like that. And the look on the younger boy's face as he turned to him with pleading eyes certainly didn't help matters, either.

"Mike, please…" Davy begged. "Please don't make me face him. Please! I… I just want to go home."

The Texan hugged the frightened English boy close.

"It's okay," he said, knowing that he had no right to tell Davy that he had to stay and fight. "You don't have to fight him if you don't want to. Things can change. Time can be rewritten."

Professor Song was going to be absolutely livid, he knew. But he was not going to put Davy through anymore hardship. He was still scared.

"Let's go home, Davy."

"Really?"

Seeing Davy's face brighten up was a relief to the Texan.

"Hey, Mike?" Micky asked, quietly. "Won't this turn everything crazy? We're messing with the timeline…"

Mike gave Micky a look and silently indicated Davy, who had hugged Mike again in relief after hearing that he didn't have to face the Forbidden One again.

"_Are you going to tell him he's gotta fight after everything he's been though?_" he silently transmitted.

Micky looked to Peter, and they both shook their heads. Davy had been through enough, and he wasn't in any shape to be fighting anyone, let alone a big, manipulative beast like the Forbidden One.

With their decision made, all that was left for the team to do was to wait until things quieted down. Davy spent the majority of the time just hugging his friends close, grateful to have them.

Micky and Peter did their best to cheer him up—and Mike, as well. The Texan was still too guilt-ridden to offer many words of comfort. Davy seemed to have forgiven him without a second thought, but… that didn't change all the suffering the English boy had been forced to endure. And as they causally left the palace to head to where Mike had left the El Dorado, he was trying to figure out how he could possibly make it up to Davy. At the moment, it just didn't seem possible.

But getting home would be a start, he realized, as they entered the El Dorado.

"Okay," Mike said, as he started to work with the settings on the console. "Here's the plan—we're going back to Beechwood Drive, and we're parking the El Dorado back on the beach. And then, we're not waiting for anything—we're going straight into the Monkeemobile and going on the run just like we originally planned."

"We're still leaving?" Peter asked.

"We have to—if Zero finds out that we succeeded in bringing Davy back to our time, he'll try something else. And there's also the fact that since Davy was touched by the Weeping Angel, it's going to be able to track him."

"What!?" the English boy yelped, causing Mike to cringe.

"It's…" Mike was almost about to reassure Davy that he would be alright once they were on the run together, but he stopped himself; his words were meaningless now, even if Davy didn't say so.

"I don't see why we can just go on the run in this thing," Micky said, gesturing all around them. "It's a home in here—we have our own rooms, there's a shower, a pool, a fireplace, a library…"

"Zero will be expecting us to stay here," Mike said. "He knows it'd be the most comfortable way to travel. We have to go low-key about this, and that means doing things the mundane way."

"As if going on the run from the Devil and a stone angel is mundane…" Micky countered, cracking a lopsided smile.

Mike didn't reply; he had attempted to throw the lever on the console to get the El Dorado moving, but frowned as the lever did not budge. His further attempts to move it achieved nothing.

The console whirred and beeped, and Mike froze, looking to Davy with a devastated expression.

"What?" the younger boy asked. "What did she say?"

"She says that she can't take you away from here," Mike said, quietly. "This is still a Fixed Point."

Once again, he had let his best friend down.

* * *

_Notes: the comment about the "offensive woolen headdress" comes from the fact that the ancient Egyptians considered wool to be impure and that it should not touch the skin or be worn while in sacred places_.


	8. The Reluctant Hero

Seeing the hope and happiness snuffed out of Davy's eyes was almost as bad as losing him to the Angel, Mike realized.

"I can't go back…?" he asked, his voice breaking. "I'm stuck here… forever? I have to stay here…"

"There has to be a way!" Peter exclaimed. "This can't be it!"

"We just have to think!" Micky said. "Come on! It's how we found you—we'll find a way to get you outta here!"

"I'm trapped here, Micky!" Davy blurted out, not bothering to refrain from crying this time. "I've lost! I have to stay here in this strange world… I'll never see my grandfather or my sisters again—I'll never be able to talk to them again! And you guys… I don't know if or when I'll ever see you again, either…"

Mike drew Davy back into a hug again, making up his mind.

"Well," he said. "I stand by what I said before—you're not going to be able to lose me that easily." He turned back to Micky and Peter. "I'm going to set the El Dorado to take you two back to Malibu. You can sell anything of mine that you need to in order to pay for the rent. Don't worry about us; we'll be fine."

"No!" Davy gasped, looking up at the Texan. "Mike, you can't… you can't do that for me!"

"Watch me," Mike retorted, allowing only a couple tears to leave him. "Davy, I went through _so much_ to find you; if you even think for a moment that I'd leave you here all alone…"

"And what about us!?" Micky exclaimed. "You think we're just going to abandon the two of you here in the past? No way!"

"Micky's right; we're staying here," Peter declared.

"I can't let you do this!" Davy exclaimed. "You three have the chance to live your lives normally, like you're supposed to—in our time!"

"Our lives just couldn't be normal without you, Davy," Peter said. "It's like Mike said—our chances are always best when we're together."

Mike felt as though he had received a punch to the gut—yes, he had said that, but now he didn't believe it as much after what had happened to Davy.

Davy opened his mouth, trying to protest, but, weary from all he had been through, he couldn't—he wanted his friends here, even though they didn't deserve to be trapped here. And, here they were, insisting they would stay…

"Thank you," he whispered, trembling as he hugged then all in a tight group hug.

"You'd do the same if it was one of us, Tiny," Mike said, softly. "So don't act so surprised."

"And I'm still not convinced that this is the end of all of our options," Micky added. "Maybe it's not you staying here that's the Fixed Point—I told you that we'd be messing with the timeline if we took you out of here before you beat the Forbidden One. Maybe that's all you need to do—beat him, and then—"

"Okay, that's enough," Mike said, sharply, and Micky fell silent in surprise. The Texan gripped Davy's shoulder. "Fellas, I say we all go back to the palace and try to get some sleep. We'll think and talk about this in the morning."

Micky gave a shrug and followed Mike as he stepped outside of the El Dorado and headed back to the palace, not taking his arm from around Davy's shoulders. Davy protested, but eventually did go to bed. Mike stayed in his room, sleeping in a nearby chair, in case the English boy found himself plagued by nightmares.

But Davy had only feigned sleep; ignoring his tired body, he sat up, making sure he didn't make any noise as he got out of the bed. Slowly he crept past Mike and snuck out of the room.

He exhaled, heading once more outside the palace, ignoring the looks from the guards outside.

"It's me," he said, to no one in particular. "I'm the reason they can't go back. I have to defeat the Forbidden One to let them do it… But where can I find him?"

"I don't know, Tiny, but you're not going to be facing him alone—not on my watch."

Davy jumped a foot into the air.

"Don't do that…" he gasped, and then looked back in surprise. "Mike?! I thought you were—"

"Asleep? Yeah, you might want to double-check the next time you try to sneak past someone," the Texan said. "I had a feeling you'd guilt trip yourself into trying to face the Forbidden One alone."

"How did you know?"

"Because I would've done the same thing myself. We're really not that different, you know?" He hesitated. "I haven't stopped blaming myself for letting you end up here in the first place."

Davy stared at him for a moment.

"Well, it's not like you asked that Angel to get me," Davy reminded him. "But never mind that; I have to beat the Forbidden One if it'll mean you can leave! I think Micky's right about this—but there's no need for you to come."

"I'll be the judge of that," Mike said. "Now let's wake Micky and Peter and go face this thing together."

"No. Mike, no. You can't come. I don't want you there."

The Texan took a step back, momentarily stunned. His state of mind immediately jumped to the possibility of Davy's subconscious still holding him responsible for this, despite his earlier words.

But it was as Mike took a closer look into Davy's eyes that he saw the real reason behind the English boy's sharp words.

"Davy…" he said. "I'm not gonna get cursed again."

"We don't know that," Davy said. "All we know is that I'm going to win, but… we don't know the cost. I can't—won't—lose you again."

"But you didn't lose me," Mike reminded him. "I'm here—I tracked you down through time and space so that you wouldn't have to face the Forbidden One without me."

But Davy shook his head, looking even more scared than when they had faced the Angels—Peter earlier assessment had been right; _this_ was what Davy feared more than any stone monster.

"Mike, I… I don't think you fully realized what happened to you in Peru," the younger boy said, his voice quivering again.

"I got encased by that Golden Curse, you broke the curse, and that's all there is to it," the Texan assured him.

"There was more," Davy said. "After I broke the medallion, and the curse started to break, he talked to me—in my head, so that only I could hear. He said that he wasn't going to let me get away with winning—I had to lose something. And since I took away the most precious thing to him, he'd take away the most precious thing to me."

Mike bit his lip.

"There's something you're not telling me, is there?" Davy asked. "Something did happen to you—I saw it, just before I passed out…"

"We saw it, too," Micky said.

Both Mike and Davy jumped this time, whirling around to see Micky and Peter standing there.

"I saw you from the window," Peter explained. "Figured we needed to be in on this, so I had Micky come with me."

Davy facepalmed.

"I was supposed to face the Forbidden One alone; don't you fellas get it?!"

"Yeah, we get it," Micky said. "But you need to get that we don't want anything to happen to you, either, I mean…"

"…We just got you back," Peter finished for him.

Davy shook his head, and he looked at Mike.

"I don't want whatever it was that happened to you last time to happen again," he said. "Whatever it was."

"He tried to take me with him," Mike admitted. "I could feel him, trying to pull me away. I didn't want to go, and then… I could hear you guys, calling for me, and I could just feel the energy returning to me and the gold that encased me just… vanished."

"So it wasn't the curse breaking that brought you back?" Davy said. "It was us?"

"Yeah. And that's why I want to be there with you, wherever it is you end up. Sometimes, a little help is all you need. And like Micky and Peter said… Well… After everything I did to make sure I'd find you again…" He trailed off, his voice threatening to crack with emotion. "I'd never forgive myself if I let you go and never saw you again."

Davy shut his eyes; he knew that if he continued to make eye contact with Mike, he would lose it, too.

"I want you there with me," he confessed. "But I don't know how I can ask such a thing of you."

"You don't have to ask, Man; we're coming along whether you like it or not!" Micky replied.

Davy quickly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"I know I'm gonna regret this," he said. "But I guess I have to let you come along."

"You can't stop us," Mike said. "The only question left is where we're supposed to go."

"I don't know where to go," Davy admitted. "But I have an idea as to how to find out. You said that my name appeared in prophecies. That means that the Forbidden One probably heard them."

Davy took a few steps forward, clenching his fists.

"Forbidden One!" he called, trembling slightly. "Forbidden One, I know you have eyes and ears everywhere. I, Djonessu, challenge you!"

Mike took a step forward as the ground shook slightly. A pathway of gold appeared from beneath the sand.

"I'm seriously fighting the temptation to make a _Wizard of Oz_ joke," Micky said.

"Too bad; we could've used the laugh," Peter said, as they followed Davy down the path. "Anyway, that Forbidden One is just as sure of himself as ever, isn't he? He's heard that Davy's going to challenge him, yet he's leading us right to him."

"Keep your eyes open for…" Mike began.

He trailed off as, several yards ahead of them, a temple began to rise from the sand.

"…Something like that," the Texan finished, as the doors opened. "Davy, wait. We need to go together—it could be a trap."

"You three don't even have to come here," Davy reminded them. "It's not too late for you to back out. I'm the prophesized champion. This is my fight, and I'm the one who has to… Well, you know."

The other three responded by taking a step forward.

"Just call us the Champion's champions," Peter grinned.

Davy responded with a smile and entered the temple, the others a mere step behind. The quartet wandered down the corridor, finally reaching an antechamber. As they crossed the threshold, torches mounted all along the chamber walls burst into flame. As the beast-like form of the Forbidden One—solid now, rather than the golden spirit Davy had faced in Peru—was illuminated, Davy let out a cry and jumped back, sending the others toppling over into the back shadows of the room.

"So…" the creature boomed. "_You_ are the one they sent to defeat me?"

Davy squeaked out an unintelligible reply. As he tried to scramble backwards, the Forbidden one used the hook of his crook to pick up Davy by the sleeve of the Egyptian tunic that he had been provided with by the Pharaoh's staff.

"Davy!" Mike exclaimed.

"You are not much of a champion," the beast sneered, as Davy struggled to try to unhook himself from the crook without success. "Why do you seek to challenge me? You need not humiliate yourself so."

"What's he doing?" Micky asked. "Is he trying to bribe Davy with gold again?"

"Not if I can help it," Mike snarled, getting to his feet. "Hey! You leave him alone; he's not making any deals with—"

"Silence!" the Forbidden One snarled. He swung a massive fist at Mike, who was sent flying into the chamber wall, just missing one of the torches.

"No!" Davy cried, as Micky and Peter helped the stunned Texan sit. "I won't let you hurt him!" _Not again!_

He finally unhooked himself from the crook and tugged on it; the sudden action caused the Forbidden One to let go, and Davy fell to the floor. He was quickly on his feet again, shaking as he brandished the crook at him.

And then the beast started laughing. Davy cringed at the sound, retreating a few steps.

"How are you supposed to defeat me?!" the beast taunted. "You are nothing—powerless against me! I could crush you with a strike from my hand!"

"No…!" Mike moaned. Once again, Davy was scared and in danger, and Mike was powerless to help him. He looked to Micky and Peter. "Help him… Please. I can't… I can't help him anymore."

Micky and Peter exchanged a glance, and both nodded.

The Forbidden One ignored them, his attention focused on Davy.

"But it could be useful to have you as a minion," the beast said. "Do you want gold, Djonessu? I can give you all the gold in the world."

"I don't want it," Davy said. "I want to go home. And I can't go home as long as you're here."

"Home? Pah! You don't need your little village! I can give you a palace of gold—you will be wealthier than the Pharaoh himself!"

"I have everything I need," Davy said.

"What do you have?" the Forbidden One sneered. "What do you have that I cannot give you?"

He leered down at Davy, who would have backed away… expect that a hand on his shoulder made him freeze.

The English boy turned to see Mike standing behind him; the Texan, who could barely stand, was being supported by Micky and Peter, who gave Davy nods of encouragement. Mike gave him a weak smile, and Davy could see the pain in his eyes—the pain of not being able to help.

The English boy turned back to the Forbidden One.

"I have a power that you can't comprehend," Davy said, confidence now entering his voice. "You will never be able to understand it—but it's why I will win against you and everything else that comes in my way! It gives me the strength I need—it gives me everything I ever need! And I don't need you!"

The crook in Davy's hand started to glow as he talked, and the English boy hurled it at the beast. The Forbidden One roared as the crook made contact with its torso, and a bright, golden light filled the chamber.

When the light cleared, the Forbidden One still stood before them, completely encased in gold.

Davy exhaled in relief, hardly daring to believe what had happened. A squeeze on his shoulder reminded him that Mike and the others had not left his side. He turned to face them all, a smile returning to his face as he saw them smiling, as well.

They all hugged, then, spontaneously, their smiles splitting into triumphant grins as they celebrated their bandmate's victory.

"You did good, Tiny," Mike said, still weak, but recovering. "I never doubted you for a second."

"And now we can go home, right?" Peter asked.

They sobered at this query; would the El Dorado let them leave now that this task had been completed?

As they were pondering this, a rustling sound near the now-encased beast made them turn. A piece of paper had been caught by a draft from the doors. Micky walked over to it, picking it up.

"Guys!" he exclaimed. "This is a page from that Book of Ages thing—it's one of the missing pages!"

"Are you sure?" Mike asked, as Davy and Peter helped him over.

"Yeah! It's saying that Davy faced the Forbidden One and won, causing its spirit to latch onto that medallion thing. And there's something else here, too…"

He held the page out to them, pointing to a set of words that had been written with a different color ink.

"_The sky will come full circle when the extraordinary is believed_."

"Okaaaaaay," Mike said. "Anyone have any idea what that's supposed to mean? Anyone?"

Four utterly baffled friends exchanged glances. They'd solved one problem, only to have another mystery seemingly fall into their hands.


	9. It's All Greek to Me

With the missing page in their hands, the quartet exited the temple, only to find the Pharaoh, his entourage, and a crowd of people were waiting for them—and the crowd burst out into cheers upon seeing Davy.

The Pharaoh raised a hand to silence the crowd.

"We salute you, our hero Djonessu," he said.

Davy managed a smile.

"I couldn't have done it without them," he said, looking to his bandmates.

"If that is the case, then you are all welcome to stay as guests in the palace for as long as you desire," the king declared.

"We're grateful for the invite, Your Honor," Mike said. "But we really need to go home."

"So be it. But should you ever find yourselves back here with a need for assistance, do not hesitate to request of me anything that is within my power to grant."

He waved his hand again, and his entourage carried him back towards the palace on a palanquin. The majority of the crowd followed the king, but some followed the quartet. They managed to evade their small legion of fans though the alleys of the marketplace before finally ending up outside the El Dorado.

Davy hesitated before attempting to enter.

"What if it still doesn't work?" he asked. "What if I can't—"

"We're either all going home, or we're all staying here," Mike insisted, as he unlocked the door. "And whatever the outcome is, I hereby hang up my hat as leader of our merry band. It's up to one of you."

"What!?" the English boy exclaimed.

"You mean you were serious about that?" Micky asked.

"I thought you'd change your mind after we got Davy back," Peter said.

"Well, you thought wrong," the Texan replied. "It's clear that I don't have what it takes anymore. Maybe I did once, but…"

"Mike, you can't blame yourself for what happened to me," Davy said. "It was my own fault for not thinking about the one Angel that was left—"

"It shouldn't have happened," Mike said. "I should've stopped it somehow. I shouldn't gotten the door myself, being the one in charge. I can't do this anymore."

"Well, I don't know what you're expecting, having one of us take over for you," Peter said. "I'm… Well… You know… I get us into trouble just by opening fortune cookies and playing harps."

"Yeah, and I'm way too… crazy to lead us. We'd just be doing science experiments all day," Micky added. "Heck, I don't know what I'm doing half the time…"

"Well, Tiny, it looks like it's up to you," Mike said. "What do you say?"

"…I say that I'm beginning to wish that you hadn't found me after all." He shook his head as the others turned to look at him. "I've ruined everything."

"No, you haven't!" Peter insisted. "This isn't the fault of any of us—we didn't ask for this! Zero did this to us! And we're doing exactly what he wants again—Mike's having a crisis of confidence, and we're all upset…" He looked around. "I think we'll be better if we go home and discuss this there. Unless we're still going to run away in the Monkeemobile when we get back, in which case, we can discuss this on the road."

"Right," Mike said, as he indicated for the others to enter the El Dorado. "Looks like you're in charge now, Shotgun."

"What? No!" Peter exclaimed. "That's not what I wanted! I just…"

He trailed off; they were all staring at the interior of the console room. It was decidedly different from when Mike, Micky, and Peter had left it before—the silvery interior and console had been, somehow, replaced by multicolor stripes along the walls and an older-looking console that fit with the new décor.

"What did you three do to the room?" Davy asked.

"We didn't do a thing!" Mike said, baffled. "It was looking just the same way you saw it when we left to find you in the palace!"

"Well, it's obviously different now," Micky said. "And seeing as though you were talking to it once before, I think the old time machine changed the décor itself."

He pulled out the Book of Ages from their suitcase as he talked, and placed the torn page to its missing spot. The page glowed for an instant before becoming reattached to the rest of the book.

"And check this out, Guys! The book fixed itself! Here ya go, Peter."

Peter grinned as he accepted the book back from Micky, and the console suddenly whirred to life.

"Fine the other pages?" Mike repeated. "Oh, no. That's _your_ hang-up, not mine. You're taking us back to Malibu; you can look up that Professor Song chick and ask her to get those pages for you."

A spotlight now landed on the back of the console room, revealing a set of instruments—guitars, drums, a piano, and others—even ones that the quartet didn't play, including a synthesizer and a well-maintained recorder.

"Oh, I get it," Mike said, folding his arms. "Now you're trying to sweeten the deal so that we go along on this little page recovery quest? Well, it's not happenin' here, Missy. You got that? We've got our own instruments that've been used so much, we know how they feel. We're not buying this at all."

"I don't know, Mike," Micky said, his eyes wide. "That… that's a Moog synthesizer over there! I've always wanted one of those—do you know how hard it is to find one of those things? And even if I could've found one, there's no way I'd have been able to afford it—but here's a free one!"

"Micky, we are being bribed by a time machine!" Mike pointed out, indicating the set of instruments.

"But one with very good taste," the brunet declared.

"No, no, _no_," the Texan replied. "I'm not having any of us go into any danger—we're going to avoid it wherever possible…" He trailed off as he finally saw Davy smiling again. "What's with you?"

"You're taking charge again," Davy pointed out. "Just to keep us safe—just like you always do."

Mike blinked.

"Force of habit," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don't you see, Mike?" Peter said, as the Texan now turned his attention to the console to take them back to Malibu. "You always look out for us—just like a leader should. That won't change, even if you don't call yourself our leader anymore. You always will be watching over us."

"That's right," Davy said. "You mean to tell me that if you hadn't been our leader, you wouldn't have done all you had done to try to find me?"

"Of course not!" Mike replied. He began to look around, uneasily as the other three stared pointedly at him. "No. No, no, no—I see exactly what y'all are doing here, and it's not going to work—"

He was cut off as the El Dorado suddenly whirred and signaled that they had arrived at their destination.

"Okay, we'll continue this discussion on the road," Mike declared, and he opened the doors.

He looked outside, and then immediately closed them again, a deer-in-the-headlights look crossing his face.

"Mike?" Peter asked, concerned. "What is it?"

"We've got ourselves a huge problem," the Texan replied, opening the doors again.

The other three gawked at the sight of the ancient buildings around them. A marble temple was short way down the path.

"This isn't Malibu," Micky declared.

"No. No, it isn't," Mike said. "By the looks of it, we're in Ancient Greece."

Davy's face fell.

"What if this is my fault?" he asked. "What if my beating the Forbidden One wasn't enough, and the touch of the Angel—"

Mike quickly grabbed the English boy's shoulders.

"Listen to me," he said, his leader's instinct kicking in again, despite himself. "This isn't your fault."

"How do you know?" Davy asked.

Mike cast a glance back at the El Dorado's console, which was quiet, as though she was trying to be nonchalant.

"Bribing us wouldn't work, so she dumped us here to find that missing page. We are at the mercy of this time machine!"

"Then perhaps you'll want to keep your voice soft and not antagonize her," Micky suggested, glancing back at the console, too. They were suddenly tipped forward and sent falling outside. "Oof. Told you…"

"Alright, I can take a hint!" Mike said to the time machine. "But let's just get one thing clear here—I'm the one driving here! And I say that I don't want my friends in any more danger, so you'd better get your turbo boosters or whatever in gear and get us back to Malibu right away!"

The doors closed defiantly, and to Mike's frustration, the tumblers of the lock refused to budge when he tried to unlock them with the key.

"You must be joking," the Texan mumbled.

"Hey, that's my line…" Davy said, but then he shook his head. "Never mind that, I guess. What are we going to do now?"

Mike silently led them away and lowered his voice.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to get a fake page and bluff our way back in. I'll see if I can get her to go back to Malibu before she finds out my little scheme," he said, casting a glance back. "Come on; let's go see if we can find a piece of paper around here that we can use…"

He began to lead the way down the path and did so for several minutes before realizing what he was doing.

"Wait a minute—I'm not doing this anymore!"

"Mike, please…" Peter said. "It's so much a part of you; you're as used to being leader as we are!"

"And what's the point of being the leader if I can't even do it right?"

"Mike, you found me," Davy reminded him. "You. Found. Me. You don't even realize how much it meant to have you there when I had to face the Forbidden One—I know I said I didn't want you there, but I'm glad you didn't listen. I don't think I could've done it without you three."

Mike looked off to the side. He wanted to believe Davy's words; he knew the English boy wouldn't exaggerate about something like this. And yet… the shadow of self-doubt that had been present in his mind ever since his younger days was still there, greedily feeding off of the good feelings that his friends' supportive words had intended to give him.

He wasn't watching where he was going, and, as they passed the temple, he heard Micky yelp a second before he collided with someone who had just exited.

"Sorry!" he yelped. "I didn't see…" He trailed off, staring at the familiar face. "Professor Song?"

To their astonishment, she didn't seem to have any recognition on her face as she looked to them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't believe we met—though you happen to be right about my identity."

"Don't believe we've met!?" Micky repeated. "Are you kidding me?! You were the one who—"

"Ah-ah-ah!" she said, interrupting him. "Spoilers. Obviously, this means I haven't met you yet in my timeline—which I should've guessed, seeing as though you are clearly not from this time…" She indicated the eight-button shirts, which the quartet had switched into from their Egyptian garb. "I'll know who you are eventually, but, at the moment, it may not be prudent for me to find out before I have to. And it's clear that you four have some purpose for being here; the last thing I want to do is get in your way."

"Actually, we really could use your help," Mike said.

"Sorry; I'm afraid I've got my hands full here," she said. "There's been an alarming increase in Weeping Angel sightings here lately, and I intend to find out why—as well as attempt to find a way to stop them. I'm off to the Labyrinth to find some answers; if you'd like to talk, you can meet me there. …What's the matter with him?"

Davy had just gone very pale, trembling again; it took the other three to keep him from fainting.

"Mike…" he pleaded. "Mike…! Mike, did you hear that? They're here—they're gonna find me here! They've probably gotten my scent or whatever already and are trying to figure out how to get me!"

"You've had contact with the Angels before?" Professor Song asked, shocked at what was, to her, a new revelation. "Oh, I _am_ sorry…"

"That's how she knew the other Angel would get Davy," Micky whispered. "He just told her past self that! What do we do, Mike?"

But Mike seemed just as pale and frightened as Davy was; the Texan wasn't even able to offer any words of comfort as he hugged Davy close.

And it was with sinking hearts that Micky and Peter realized that if there was anything that could've squashed the last remaining hope of Mike reconsidering giving up his position as leader, this was it.


	10. Lost in the Labyrinth

_Notes: To the anon reviewer who made the Lone Star and Union Jack request: it is on my to-do list! I may need some time (I've got a couple other small writing projects that need to be done first), but I will get to it eventually_.

* * *

There wasn't anything anyone could say and make things any better. The professor paced the area for a moment before speaking again.

"The solution to the problem here is sure to be in the Labyrinth," she said. "The Angels that have been showing up here aren't ordinary ones—they were once people. They were the victims of Medusa. There's supposed to be some sort of key in the Labyrinth that'll break the curse on them."

She looked to the quartet.

"As Angels, they are immortal, and they cannot remember their human lives—they won't want to change back, so they'll be actively attacking anyone who enters the Labyrinth. But they can't attack while they're being watched—I'm sure you know that. I'm sure you can also agree that the more eyes we have on alert, the better. Perhaps, if we go together, we can find the answer to this dilemma."

"Yeah, probably," Micky said. "What do you say, Mike?"

"It's not really up to me anymore, is it? Davy's the one who's going to make the call on this. He's going to be in the most danger."

"What I want is for things to be back to the way they were before," Davy said, now pulling away from Mike. "But since that's not going to happen anytime soon, I'll settle for curing those Angels so that I don't have to worry about them."

And Mike now took a step back, as well.

"Davy…"

As impossible as it sounded, Davy seemed more upset now rather than when he had been thrown back into the past.

Davy turned back to the professor and nodded.

"Let's go."

The English boy followed the professor; Micky shrugged and went after Davy.

"You okay?" Peter asked, as Mike stared blankly ahead.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," the Texan said, watching them retreat. "Why does it seem that everything is just getting worse and worse whenever I try to fix it?"

"It really isn't. You're just fooling yourself into thinking it," Peter said. "We really wish you could believe in yourself like we believe in you—and I bet Davy, having known you the longest, feels that stronger than anyone."

"Kid needed a hero; I just can't live up to his expectations," Mike said. "It only took him this long to realize it."

"Really? After you looked after him for four years? Mike, you can see it in his eyes how much he still thinks you're his hero. He thinks the world of you. And he's really hurt that you don't want take that role anymore. And Micky and I are more than a little disappointed, too; Davy wasn't the only one who looked up to you—so did we. And I know that all three of us still do, even now."

Mike looked back to Peter, and the blond just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Just think about it, okay? Sure, you make mistakes every once in a while, but that's because you're human. And even if you do make a mistake, you go out of your way to fix it. And that's why I believe that you're going to be able to fix this, too, once you get a bit of time to work it all out."

Mike gave a quick nod.

"I hope you're right, Shotgun," he said. "Guess we'd better go follow the others. I would rather be there with everyone."

"Good choice."

* * *

"Hello?" Micky called, as he, Davy, and the professor took their first steps into the Labyrinth. "Any Angels here?"

"Mick, I really doubt they'd answer," Mike said, as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere from behind them.

Davy and Micky yelped, turning around to see him and Peter.

"Don't do that," the brunet said. He blinked as he noticed that Peter had a sandwich in his hand. "D'you really think now's the time to eat?"

"Oh, it's not for eating," Peter said. "Since we're going into a big maze, I figured we could use the Hansel and Gretel approach of breadcrumbs to keep track of where we go."

"As I recall, that method didn't exactly work for Hansel and Gretel," Davy pointed out.

"Yeah, but how many birds are going to be in a giant maze?"

"A little quiet, if you please," Professor Song said, indicating an inscription on the wall. She ran a scanner over it, which seemed to translate the ancient Greek. "Well, that's interesting…"

"You've got the answer to stopping the Angels?" Mike asked.

"I believe I do," she said. "There is one surviving snake from Medusa's hair inside the Labyrinth somewhere, alive due to time energy sustaining it—the same time energy that the Angels are feeding off of. If the snake is removed from the Labyrinth…"

"…It cuts off the Angels' food source and restores everyone to normal?" Mike finished. "I can dig that."

"The only problem is that trying to find a snake in a maze is going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Micky said.

"It's sure to be at the heart of the maze," the professor said, as she led the way. "The challenge is to get there and back without getting lost."

"I hope I have enough bread to last us that long…" Peter mused.

"I just hope we don't run into any Angels," Davy said, shuddering.

"There's gotta be more to it than that, isn't there?" Micky asked, frowning. "I mean, coming in with a crowd to look out for Angels is the logical thing to do. Don't you think the guys who built this maze threw in some special twists and traps to make it as difficult for us as possible?"

The words were barely past his lips as the ground suddenly began to shake.

"You just had to say it, didn't you, Mick?" Mike yelped.

The quartet could only stare as large sections of the maze walls began to shift and rearrange themselves, creating new pathways and cutting off old ones.

"The maze is changing!" Peter cried. "It doesn't matter if we use the bread now; it can just shift around and leave us totally—"

There was a cry from Davy as a section of wall suddenly rose up in front of him, cutting him off from the others.

"Mike!" he cried. "Micky! Peter!" He gulped, audibly, as though taking in the full seriousness of his situation. And then, his voice suddenly rose to a frantic cry. "MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!"

He began hammering on the wall with his fists.

"I'm right here, Davy—I'm right here!" the Texan said, his mind racing. His own insecurities were most certainly unimportant now; he had to get to Davy before the Angels did—but how?

"Look out!" Professor Song exclaimed.

The walls were still moving, and, soon, the professor was cut off from them—and then Mike found himself cut off from Micky and Peter.

"Mike!? Davy!? Professor!?" Micky yelped, his voice approaching a nervous squeak.

"You guys okay?" Peter called.

"Yeah!" Mike called. "Yeah, we're—"

"I'm _not_ okay!" Davy called, the panic evident in his voice. "There are Angels in this maze, and they're coming for me!"

"He's right," the professor's voice said, from her position. "He'll be the one they can track most easily. They're hungry—and they'll be going for the prey that'll be easiest for them to find."

Everyone heard the shudder from Davy, and the sharp intake of breath from Mike.

"Okay," the Texan said. "Here's what we're going to do. Davy, turn around so that your back is to the wall—keep your eyes open for those Angels."

"Okay… now what?"

"Follow the sound of my voice—all of you, follow the sound of my voice. Davy, you keep talking to me—we'll use the sound of our voices as a guide. In fact, what don't we all sing something? Let's try a little 'Pleasant Valley Sunday,' shall we?"

Nobody questioned it, though the look on the professor's face must have been priceless as they started to sing. It took a bit of maneuvering, but, after a while, Mike finally turned the corner of one of the passageways and saw Davy heading his way.

The English boy saw him and ran over to hug him.

"You okay?" Mike asked.

"I am now."

"Great. Hey, Guys? I found Davy!"

"I knew you would!" Peter congratulated him.

"Now we just have to find each other!" Micky said. "But the passageway we're in doesn't turn in that direction."

"Keep following it and make the turn the first time you get the chance!" Mike instructed. "And be careful! I don't know why we haven't seen any Angels yet, but it's putting me into a false sense of security that we really can't afford right now."

"I'm a bit curious about that myself," Professor Song said. "I would have expected them to make an appearance by now; they must be starving—"

She was quickly cut off, and then let out a cry.

"Professor?" Mike asked, his eyes going wide. "Professor!?"

"Quick—this way!" Davy said. "There's a right turn back here; it should take us right to her!"

Davy led the way, and made the turn, suddenly stopping as he saw a pair of hands gripping at the edge of an open trapdoor.

"Professor!" Davy exclaimed.

"I've got her," Mike said, grabbing both of her hands and helping pull her up. The archaeologist caught her breath, but thanked him.

"Well," she sighed. "I think I just realized why we haven't seen any Angels."

As Davy and Mike looked at her in confusion, she indicated the trapdoor. Mike searched his pockets for a flashlight, but came up with the Sonic Screwdriver instead, which was glowing with a green light. Shrugging, he used the light to illuminated the trapdoor area, and both he and Davy gave a yelp as they saw a large group of statues staring up at them.

"They were waiting for one of us to fall in," Davy said, with a shudder. "You wouldn't be able to keep your eyes on all of them, even if you tried—and the shock of the fall would cause you to blink if you landed."

"Yeah, no kidding," Mike said. "Hey, Mick? Pete? Both of you watch had better watch your steps! They've got trapdoors just waiting for us!" He turned back to the professor as Micky and Peter called back in the affirmative, blinking as she stared at him. "What?"

"Where did you get that?" she asked, indicating the device in his hand.

"What, this? From you—well, a future you. You gave a little something to each of us—you gave Mick that wristwatch thing you're wearing there, and you gave Davy the Ocarina that helped lead me to him when the Angels got him. Thanks for the loans, by the way; I don't know how we couldn't gotten through without you. Wish this thing here was as easy to use as an instrument. I mean, I'm a musician—not a gadget expert."

"Then let me tell you how to use it," she said. "Point it at the trapdoor and click that button there."

Mike did so, and the panel now closed; all was silent underneath.

"Hey, that's… useful," Davy commented, grinning.

Mike suddenly frowned.

"You sound awfully chipper for having seen a pit full of Angels…" The Texan trailed off again, his eyes narrowing. "You little schemer… All that yelling and screaming and beating up the wall was just an act!?"

Davy gave a lopsided grin.

"Well, I _was_ scared—still am a bit, I suppose. But I figured that this would be the best way to get you back to your old self. And look at you—you thought up a plan to help us, you found me, and you saved the professor."

"Good one, Davy!" Micky called.

"So does this mean that you're our leader again, Mike?" Peter called.

"Now wait just a minute!" Mike protested. "This was all a trick by Tiny here; I never said for a minute that… that I'd… Oh…" He rolled his eyes and then looked to the Professor. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you could've gotten out of that hole yourself?"

"Well, you'll never know now, will you?" she replied, smirking. She quickly sobered. "They'll be on their way through the maze now that we're aware of their plan—we need to find the snake and get out of here."

"Right," Mike said. "Hey, Micky! Peter! Better start singing again!"

They all launched into "Pleasant Valley Sunday" again, which quickly ended as Micky suddenly let out an exclamation of surprise.

"It's the snake!" Peter said, glancing at the slumbering reptile within a glass case. "We found it! All we need to do now is find each other and get out of here!"

And for the first time in a long time, Mike found himself grinning.

"Great. Okay, you two need to find a way back towards the entrance, but we need to stick together here…" Mike trailed off as Davy suddenly clutched at his arm. "What is it?"

"They found me, Mike…"

The Texan turned to see the professor staring down a hoard of Angels.


	11. Strike of the Serpent

The Texan took a moment to glare at the Angels before snapping back to reality upon hearing Micky.

"Mike? Mike, are you guys okay?"

"For the moment," he said. "The Angels found Davy. But they're not going to get him. I've got this figured out; if the three of us can keep staring them down while you and Peter grab that snake and get out of here."

"Gotcha!" Peter said. "I'll just open the case here and—"

"Peter, wait!" Micky exclaimed. "Don't touch it!"

"Why?"

"That's a venomous snake!" the brunet said, panic evident in his voice. "You can tell by the shape of its head and the little pits near its eyes!"

Silence filled the labyrinth.

"Anybody got a backup plan?" Peter said.

"Where is the snake now?" Mike asked.

"Behind a glass case on top of one of those ionic column things," Micky said. "At least, I think it's an ionic column—or is it Corinthian? Corinthian's the one with all the little designs on—"

"Never mind what kind of column it is!" Mike said. "That doesn't matter! Take the case—take the whole case and get out of the maze as quickly as you can! Once you do that, these Angels will return to their human states."

"That should work," Professor Song said. "The only question is whether or not there are more Angels—the moment you take that case, they'll be after the one carrying it."

"You mean they'll be going after Micky and Peter and not me?" Davy said. "That's not how I wanted it! I mean, of course I don't want them after me, but I don't want them after my friends, either!"

"And how do we get out of here?" Micky added. "We can get back to the point we were at once the walls stated moving around, but the way out from there is…"

He trailed off as a rumbling filled the room again, and the walls started to shift.

"Grab the box!" Micky yelled to Peter.

Peter obliged, and the two of them started running back down the corridor, even as it started shifting to the right.

Mike was holding onto Davy and the professor's hands as they tried to shuffle backwards while keeping their eyes on the Angels. A large segment of wall now rose between them and the deadly statues.

"And there they go," the professor sighed. "They'll have already scattered and regrouped to try to find your friends.

Mike sighed, biting his lip.

"Keep your eyes open!" he called to Micky and Peter.

"Will do, Mike!" the blond called. "We just need to find—"

The blond suddenly yelped, and Micky called out his name before the sound of shattering glass filled the air.

"Oh, he didn't…" Professor Song groaned, facepalming.

"Peter?!" Davy and Mike called.

"I… I'm okay!" the blond called back. "I just… uh-oh…"

A reptile's hiss was now heard, and Micky started stammering in fear.

"Snake… angry… venomous…"

Mike turned to face the professor, pulling the Sonic from his pocket.

"This doohickey here…" he said. "If it can open doors, can't it also move the walls around?"

"…There's nothing to lose in trying," she replied, her eyes widening.

Mike pointed the device at the wall and pressed the button. Slowly, the wall shifted down into the floor.

"Oh, we are in _business_, Baby!" he exclaimed, his eyes positively gleaming.

Despite himself, Davy found a grin creeping its way onto his face. The Mike he knew was back.

Everything would be fine now, he told himself as he and the professor followed Mike; the Texan was shifting the walls as they progressed in a straight line towards the sound of Micky and Peter's voices.

They all stopped in their tracks as Mike shifted the last wall to reveal Peter gingerly holding the white snake by its tail, holding it as far away from his body as possible. Micky was clutching at his own face in sheer nervousness.

"Peter…?" Davy asked.

"I think it's okay," he said. "It's pretty calm about this. We just have to make sure we don't anger it as we leave—"

Another panel of wall shifted, revealing a hoard of Angels; their stone faces glaring at Peter.

"Okay," Mike said, staring them down. "Peter, you and Davy stay in the lead, and keep your eyes out for any Angels coming from the side passageways. I'll handle the walls. Micky, you and the professor cover our retreat."

"Gotcha," Micky said. "Pete, you be careful with that thing!"

"Right!" the blond said, as he carried the surprisingly docile reptile down the corridor.

Mike was moving the walls out of their way, standing to the side of Davy and Peter in case any Angels did try and attack from the side.

He had been so focused on watching for Angels, he neglected to keep an eye on the snake. Quickly, as they were approaching the exit of the Labyrinth, the snake climbed up along its own body, lunged, and bit the blond's hand.

Peter cried out, falling to his knees. Mike and Davy were by his side in an instant, horrified.

"Peter!" Micky cried, unable to see him due to covering the retreat.

"Go to him," Professor Song instructed. "I'll watch these Angels."

Micky didn't need to hear it twice; he was at his side, as well. The snake was curled up by one of the walls, hissing, as Peter stared at his bleeding hand.

"What do we do?" the brunet asked, on the verge of panic. "We don't have any anti-venom."

"There might be some in the El Dorado; we have to get Peter there as quickly as we can…" Mike began, but he trailed off as he saw the serpent slither back towards them. "Get that thing away!"

"Wait…" Peter said, his eyes widening. "Look at it—it's staring at something."

The snake was staring at two cavities in the side walls.

"There's something in there," Davy said. "I wonder what—"

He crept closer towards the cavities, and froze as his foot triggered a trap panel in the floor. A metal spear shot out from each cavity, embedding into the opposite walls.

"Davy!" Mike called.

"I'm… I'm fine…" the English boy gasped, stunned by his narrow miss. "It was a trap! We nearly got skewered!"

"And we would've been," Peter said. "If the snake hadn't bit me, we'd have walked right into it…" He looked to the serpent. "Hey… _That's_ why it bit me! It was trying to warn us!"

"Are you sure?" Micky asked, looking suspiciously at the reptile. "I don't think… Peter, what are you doing!?"

The blond extended his hand back to the snake, which slithered back up along his arm, calm once again.

"See? It's nice again. And I don't feel weird at all—I don't think it released any venom in me."

"We'd better get you to the El Dorado right away, though," Mike said, still not trusting the snake. He aimed the Sonic once more at the wall at the end of the corridor, revealing the daylight pouring in from the exit. "Peter, we're going to carry you, just in case; we don't want to take any chances of any venom going further into your bloodstream."

"But I told you; I feel fine…"

Micky and Davy grabbed each of his feet while Mike grabbed him by the shoulders. Professor Song kept her eyes on the Angels as she retreated in a backwards walk.

Emerging into the daylight was the most wonderful feeling the quartet had felt in a long time. And as they left, a crowd of befuddled humans exited behind them, finally freed from Medusa's curse.

Professor Song now pulled out her scanner from her pocket and examined Peter with it. She smiled.

"Not a trace of venom in his system," she announced. "It really does seem that poor snake wanted to keep us from falling into that trap."

"See?" Peter grinned. "It likes me! Hey, guys, can we keep it?"

"NO," three voices chorused.

The blond shrugged and looked to the snake.

"Sorry…"

The snake worked its way down Peter's arm and slithered away. Peter waved goodbye to it.

"I'm going to miss it," he sighed. He looked to the crowd of confused people around them, marveling at their human selves again. "What do we do about them?"

"They'll have to learn to adjust," Professor Song said. "Some of them had been cursed for a very long time; they'll have to pick up the pieces somehow."

Mike sighed as he looked upon the confused crowd. There was a young man his age, looking devastated as well as confused. How long had he been cursed? The people he knew and loved… were they even here?

A chill ran down the Texan's spine. Had things been different in Peru, that could've been him—freed years later from the Golden Curse (assuming he'd have been freed at all), feeling lost and alone.

Davy's hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts.

"We've all got things to be sorry for," the percussionist said. "But we should never let that change who we are."

Mike looked at him and nodded, finally understanding; the guilt that Davy must have felt due to Peru was probably the same that Mike had been feeling about Egypt.

"I hear you, Tiny."

Davy was about to say something else when a piece of paper smacked him in the face; the rushing crowd had blown a worn page around.

"Hey, isn't that a page from the Book of Ages?" Peter asked.

Davy removed the paper from his face.

"Yeah, it is! We found it!"

"Great, then maybe this'll convince the El Dorado to let us go home," Mike said.

"Don't bet on it," Micky said. "She's already asserted the fact that she's in charge—not us."

"Don't jinx us," Mike said. He turned to Professor Song. "Well, um… Thank you, for your help."

"Thank _you_," she said. "Clearly, we will meet again. So, until then…" She gave them a little wave. "I'm going to stay here for a while longer and help some of these poor souls out. But you, clearly, have places to go."

Mike cast one last look at the crowd, and then back at Davy, who was looking back at him.

"Yeah, we do," the Texan said. "I got a band to lead."

His bandmates' faces broke into triumphant grins.

"And all is as it should be," Davy declared. "Come on; let's get out of here."

Throwing more farewells to the professor as they retreated, the quartet barreled back towards the El Dorado.

Davy waved the page from the Book of Ages in front of the time machine, and grinned as the doors unlocked.

"See? There we are," Mike said to the console, as Peter placed the page back in the book. "We got that page back for you. Now, how about getting us back to good old Malibu, huh?"

The console whirred, and Mike facepalmed.

"No go, huh?" Davy asked.

"Nope."

Resigned to the fact that they weren't going back home until they had retrieved all of the missing pages, the quartet held onto the console as the time machine departed for their next destination—wherever (and whenever) it was.


	12. The Oncoming Lone Star

_Notes: the outlaws in this chapter aren't my characters. Also, all _Oregon Trail_ references are intentional_.

* * *

It was with some trepidation that the quartet waited as they arrived.

"So, who wants to take a look outside and see whether or not we actually made it back to Malibu?" Micky offered.

"Well, I know we didn't make it back," Mike sighed. "Because we've got one stubborn time machine on our hands here. There's no telling where this thing decided to drop us off at…" The Texan trailed off as he opened the door, and he quickly shut it again.

"Mike? What is it?" Micky asked, heading for the doors with Davy and Peter as Mike ran for their suitcase.

The brunet opened the doors and blinked as he saw a small settlement. A wooden sign beside a trail read, "Five miles to Justice, Nevada."

"We're in the Old West!" Peter exclaimed.

"Heck, yeah, we are!" Mike exclaimed.

The other three turned, staring as they saw the Texan now dressed in his sequined blue-and-white suit with matching star-studded Stetson.

"He brought that to go on the run?" Micky asked, realizing Mike had pulled it from the suitcase.

"Well, we'd need a change of clothes, wouldn't we?" Mike said, practically leaping out the doors. "_Yee-haw_!"

The other three Monkees paused before following him.

"Well," Davy said. "At least he's happy again…"

Micky and Peter nodded in agreement as they caught up with Mike, who was talking to two men in a horse-drawn cart. The Texan turned to them as the cart clattered away.

"Hey, fellas, I think I got us a lead," he said. "Those two guys there—they claimed that they were government agents—mentioned that there was a recent theft of old documents and money in a town called Justice."

"Five miles from here," Davy said, indicating the sign. "But I don't see what that has to do with… Oh! You think the page from the Book of Ages is among the old documents?"

"I can see how it'd be camouflaged there," Micky said. "But how can we be sure? And how do they know that the thieves are still there?"

"Because they know who the thieves are, and they're still in town," Mike said. "They've got some rendezvous with someone who wants to go over those documents. And they mentioned that one of the pages had something weird written on it—just like that weird phrase that was on the page we found in Egypt."

"It was in the page we found in Greece, too," Peter added. "I saw it when I was putting it into the book—'The sky will come full circle when the extraordinary is believed.' Any new ideas on what it means?"

"I've got nothing," Mike admitted. "But we need to get to that town and find that third page. And the first thing we have to do is hitch up the El Dorado to some sort of cart so we can take her with us."

"Can't we just teleport over there?" Micky asked, indicating the time machine.

"Obviously, we were put here, in this spot, for a reason," Mike insisted. "So, we're going to do this like the locals would."

They pooled together some of their meal fixings and, with the help of Micky's silver tongue, were able to exchange some of their food for the use of a cart. With a bit of maneuvering, the quartet managed to shift the space-time traversing vehicle onto the cart.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Mike asked, taking the reins. He soon frowned as he realized they weren't going anywhere. "What's the deal?"

Davy took a look and sighed.

"The wheels haven't been greased," he said. "You got gypped, Mike—we handed over our food for a faulty cart."

"At least we didn't trade our instruments to get it," Peter pointed out, deciding to look on the bright side.

"Well, um…" the Texan said. "I suppose we could track down the fella who took our food and ran… But we really oughta just head on into that town and get the page. The sooner we get the page, the sooner we can go home, remember?"

"You don't seem to mind it here too much," Davy pointed out.

"'Cause there're kindred spirits here, Tiny," Mike said, sagely.

"I've got it!" Micky said, snapping his fingers. "You didn't give away all the food, right?"

"Of course not!" Mike said. "I know we've gotta eat…"

"Did you keep any of the cheese sandwiches?"

"Well, sure, but I don't see how that's going to get us to the next town…" The Texan trailed off as Micky reentered the El Dorado and exited with handfuls of cheese. "Mick, what in the world are you doing?"

"We just lost a good portion of our food; don't throw away even more of it!" Davy exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm not throwing this away," he said. "I'm going to use it to grease the wheel!"

"…You must be joking."

"Nuh-uh. I saw it in an old episode of _Marshal Dillon_; the fat in the cheese acts like grease. Just watch…"

It took some trial-and-error, but soon, Micky had the wheel moving. Pleased with himself, he reclined on the cart as Mike drove them forward.

"It should last us for the five miles," he said.

The wheel certainly didn't give them anymore trouble, but several delays came their way in the form of hungry oxen, a blocked trail, and a subsequent detour.

They were about a half-mile outside of town, having just made it over a small waterway crossing (just barely making it across) when a loud "crack" filled the air.

"What was that?" Mike asked, as they came to a halt.

"…We just broke an axle," Peter said, looking over the side. "Anything in _Marshal Dillon_ about using food to fix that?"

"I don't think so," the brunet said, wincing. "Miiiiiiiike…"

The Texan sighed.

"Well, I reckon that trying to hitch the El Dorado to a yoke of oxen was not one of our better ideas…"

"So what now?" Davy asked,

"Help me put the Eldy back on solid ground first; we can just…" He trailed off as Peter cleared his throat.

The blond was indicating a pioneer family, staring glumly at the remains of a cart in the water. A pair of oxen stood beside them, silently communicating with the oxen from the quartet's cart.

After a quick talk with the family, it was quickly arranged for the quartet to hand over their cart and help the family salvage the axle from their old one. After securing the El Dorado in some brush, the family obligingly gave the quartet a ride into the town before continuing on their way.

"Well, we made it," Mike said, satisfied overall. "Now all we gotta do is find a chick who looks like that…" He indicated a wanted poster. "And see if we can convince her to give us that one piece of paper."

"How do we do that?" Micky asked.

"Well, I figured we could let her read the thing, and she'd figure out that it'd be of no use to her…"

"No, no, no—how do we find her in the first place?" Micky asked.

"Oh that? Well, there's gotta be a saloon around here somewhere. And where there's a saloon, there's a whole lotta loose talk."

"Is it just me, or is his drawl getting thicker as he talks?" Peter asked Davy, in an undertone.

"It's not just you," Davy agreed, amused. "He's in his element, and he's loving every second of it."

"We're gonna get our answers in there," Mike went on, taking one of the wanted posters and looking around. At last, he found the establishment he was looking for. "Just stick close to me, fellas."

Micky exchanged a look with Davy and Peter, the three of them trying very hard not to crack up as Mike strode in through the saloon doors, surveying the scene inside. He headed to the bar, leaning against it.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked.

"Information," Mike drawled, showing him the wanted poster. "I'm lookin' for a chick named Posey. Ya know anything 'bout her?"

"Maybe I do. What's it to ya?"

"She's got somethin' that belongs to me; I am to take it back."

"Well, good luck to ya," the bartender said. "Ain't a soul who's ever been able to capture Lucrece Posey. Told the same thing to those agents who were in here just a little while ago. You working with them?"

"Nah, I'm freelance."

"Oh? What did you say your name was?"

"Didn't say," the Texan drawled. "But they call me the Oncoming Lone Star."

Davy snarked aloud.

"Who calls you _that_?"

"Hush, you."

Peter had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing; he turned away from the bar so that no one would notice.

It was then that he noticed two people talking in the back of the saloon, and his shoulders went rigid.

"Mike…" he whispered, tugging on the Texan's sleeve as he looked back at the table. "Mike!"

"Not now, Shotgun; I'm on a roll here," Mike murmured under his breath. "I think I'm impressing the guy…"

Peter stomped his foot in frustration.

"Excuse me, Mr. Oncoming Lone Star?" he said, loudly. "There's something you really oughta see back there!"

"Oh, them?" the bartender said, looking in the direction that Peter was indicating. "Well, what do you know—that's Pinto, one of Posey's crew. Don't know who the guy in the flashy duds is, though—never seen him 'round these parts… Never seen duds like that before, either, now that I think about it."

Mike, Davy, and Micky now turned, and the smug look was wiped from the Texan's face in an instant.

A figure in a three-piece suit was sitting at the back table; his choice of clothing—definitely not from this era—made him stand out. But the anachronism of the clothes was not the issue here; it was the identity of the one wearing them—the one they had been running from in the first place.

"Zero," Mike muttered.


	13. Monkee Wrench

On the same wavelength, the quartet quickly ducked down and hid behind the bar, much to the chagrin of the bartender.

"What's Zero doing here?!" Micky hissed.

"He's after the pages, too, remember?" Mike said. "He must've figured out Posey's gang has the page from this era, so he's doing a little wheeling and dealing of his own to try and get it from them."

"How do we stop him?" Davy asked. "If he gets one page—even just one—we're in trouble!"

"I've got an idea," Mike said, handing Davy his Stetson. "Hold onto that for me."

The Texan grabbed a hand fan from one of the saloon girls as she walked past. Ignoring her protests, he also grabbed a tray of drinks. Holding the tray in one hand and the fan in the other to cover his face, Mike slowly began to head to the back of the saloon.

"What is he doing?!" Peter quietly fretted. "They're not going to be fooled by that; he's going to get caught!"

"Not if I can help it," Davy said, crawling to the edge of the bar and taking a peek.

"No, Davy!" Micky whispered, tugging him back by his sleeve. "Mike's taking a risk just being out there; if someone else goes, it'll be way too obvious!"

"I'm surprised Mike hasn't been noticed already," Peter agreed. "They must both be really out of it."

"Zero looks like he's trying to make a deal in addition to trying to negotiate the page," Micky said. "And the guy isn't buying it, for some reason."

"He's smarter than I was, then…" Peter said, glumly.

"You didn't know what you were getting into," Davy said, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Yeah, but… If I hadn't signed that contract for the harp, Mike wouldn't have ticked Zero off at my trial and we wouldn't be in this jam now."

"Peter…" Micky said. "Come on, man. All you wanted was to play the music and make people happy. Nothing wrong with that."

Davy nodded in agreement and took another peek from the edge of the bar. His shoulders stiffened.

"What is it?" Micky asked.

"Mike's gone!" Davy whispered. "He's not there anymore!"

Micky and Peter now took a look from the bar's edge.

"Oh, no…" Peter fretted. "Where did he go?"

"Right here," a soft voice spoke from behind them.

The other three Monkees gave a start.

"Don't do that…" Davy said, giving Mike a look. "What happened?"

"Oh, the usual—Zero's trying to get that Pinto fella to convince Posey to sign a deal. She's hiding in a room upstairs, and she's in no mood to talk to Zero, so Pinto's getting the swindle. He's not falling for it, though; now Zero's trying to settle for just the page, just as we thought."

"That's not good," Micky said.

"Actually, it was; I heard everything they were saying. I found out where they're hiding the loot from their last heist—and our missing page is there!" Mike grinned. "They hid the loot under some loose floorboards in the telegraph office. I could just swing by there right now and grab it! …In fact, I will."

"Great!" Peter said. "Let's head over there and get outta here before Zero ever finds out we were here."

"It'll be really risky for all four of us to try to sneak out—there's no way we wouldn't be seen," Mike said, glancing back at the back table, too. "And I'm not risking that. You three stay right here, got it? I'll be back as soon as I get the page, and then we'll make a run for the Eldy once Zero splits."

The other three stared back in silence, clearly not liking the idea.

"I'll be back before you know it," Mike promised.

"You'd better be," Micky murmured, as Mike crawled to the other end of the bar and snuck out of the saloon. He leaned against the back of the bar as he sat, twiddling his thumbs for a few minutes.

"I don't like this," Peter said. "I don't like the idea of Mike being out there all alone. At least one of us should be with him to back him up in case something goes wrong."

"Yeah," Micky agreed. "What do you think, Davy?"

No answer.

"Davy…?" Peter asked.

They both looked around, wildly, searching for the English boy.

"He's gone!" they exclaimed.

"He must've gone to follow Mike in case he got into trouble," Peter said. "At least… I hope that's all that happened."

Micky took a peek from behind the bar again. Zero was now sitting at the back table—alone. Pinto had wandered off somewhere.

"Well, that Pinto guy has split, but Zero's still around," the brunet relayed. "So that means that Zero couldn't have taken Davy."

"That's a relief. But be careful, Micky!" Peter said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You don't want him to see you!"

"Micky?" a new, unfamiliar voice asked. "You aren't from California, by any chance, are you?"

The brunet blinked as he came face to face with a man on the other side of the bar; it was one of the two agents that Mike had been talking to earlier.

"Um… how do you know my name? And where I'm from?"

"A woman told me," the man said. "She said her name was Professor Song, and that I had to deliver this letter to a young man named Micky from California—and that I'd find him hiding behind a bar in this town."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, I know a Professor Song," Micky said. "She's a friend of ours."

"Then I believe this belongs to you," the man said, handing Micky a letter before heading on his way.

The brunet shrugged at the blond and, as they ducked behind the counter again.

"What's it say?" Peter asked, as Micky opened the letter.

"Hey, it's instructions on how to use the weirdo wristband thing she lent me!" the brunet exclaimed. "She says that it's time I learned it, since it's the only thing that'll save Mike and Davy!" The brunet's eyes widened as the realization sunk in. "Save them… from what?"

"Micky…!" Peter exclaimed.

The brunet followed his gaze. Leaning over the bar, leering at them, was Mr. Zero.

* * *

Mike's quest started off simple enough. It only took a moment to ask for directions to find the telegraph office, and it was only a matter of sneaking inside unseen. The lock wasn't working—testimony to the fact that someone could easily use it.

After stubbing his toe on an inconveniently-placed trashcan, Mike was able to find the hollow spot in the floor.

"I gotcha," he whispered, lifting the boards. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, going through the bonds and deeds until, finally, he found the one piece of paper that didn't fit in among them. "Oh, I really gotcha…"

He trailed off, blinking as he noticed his own name on the page.

"I've got one of those Fixed Points in store for me? Here?" he murmured aloud. He aimed the flashlight to better look at the words written there.

"'Michael, unaware of the approaching danger, could not react in time,'" he read aloud. "And it was due to this that he found himself knocked unconscious…'"

He trailed off, letting out a yelp as he felt a crushing blow fall across his shoulders, his world going dark.

When he finally regained awareness, he could still feel the pain from the blow. He also found out that he couldn't move. He attempted to speak, and found that his mouth was gagged with a handkerchief.

The Texan opened his eyes, seeing his tied hands lying on top of his chest. He quickly realized that his feet were bound, also, but the most disturbing thing about his predicament was the fact that, aside from the sky overhead, he was surrounded by wood on all sides. Panicking, Mike struggled to move, his muffled yells going nowhere.

"Relax," a female voice said. "You're not in a coffin; you're in an old packing crate. It's the best we could do on such short notice." The woman's face became visible over the side of the open crate. Beside her stood the man Zero had been talking to. "My name is Lucrece Posey; I believe you've heard of me? You didn't really think that my associate here didn't notice that you were spying on him?"

"That Zero feller told me something like this would happen," Pinto said. "So he had me drop the location of the loot, knowing that you'd show up. Don't know why you'd waste your time on a dumb piece of paper…"

"What did you do with the paper?" Posey asked Pinto.

"It's back on the floor of the telegraph office," Pinto grunted. "Figured we'll pick it up with the rest of the loot and hand it to that Zero guy before we get out of town."

"I'll go get it; you meet me at the rendezvous point with the others after you take care of him," Posey said, indicating Mike before she turned away and left.

Pinto smirked.

"You hear that, Tex? She's letting me deal with you, and she's given me a free reign. So here's what we're going to do. Since I went through the trouble of getting you this crate, you might as well spend a little more time here. You see this rope?"

He indicated a rope that seemed to wrap around the whole crate, suspending it in midair. Mike's eyes followed the rope, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized that the other end of it was tied to the crank of a well.

"I've rigged this well's rope to a counterweight system so that it'll lower you down inch by inch into the well," Pinto said. "It'll probably take you down only halfway. But when the rope reaches its end, it'll stay over a candle flame I've got set up—when the rope burns through, down you'll go, the rest of the way. And the best part? You'll know it's coming, but you won't know when. You'll just have to lie there, in the dark, wondering when that rope will burn through. Now, I don't know whether or not this crate has any holes in it—you'll have the fun of finding that out for yourself."

Pinto disappeared for a moment, but reappeared after a moment, and Mike began to panic again as he felt the crate begin to descend into the well.

"I'd say something smart, like hoping that you've learned your lesson not to snoop around," he said. "But there's really no point in learning anything from this, is there? You won't be able to use your newfound knowledge."

The captive boy let out a muffled scream as Pinto placed the lid of the crate over him, placing him in total darkness. All he could hear were the man's sadistic chuckles; they soon faded as Pinto walked away, leaving the musician in his dire predicament.

This sensation… he had felt it once before—another time, another well… The well back home, where he had been trapped in that fateful night—the night that made him decide to leave his hometown. And as he felt his heart hammering in his chest and the sweat pouring from his face, Mike knew exactly what this sensation was.

This was fear—pure, sheer fear.

All dignity forgotten, the Texan let out a series of muffled cries, trying desperately to move his immobile body, and failing. And as the crate stopped descending, now waiting for the flame to burn through it and drop him the rest of the way, the cries turned to muffled sobs.

He didn't want to go. Not like this…

"_Mike_?!"

The Texan froze. Clearly, he was hallucinating—hearing a voice he so desperately wanted to hear…

"MIKE!?"

No, that was no hallucination… That was Davy!

As if to confirm the realization, the lid of the crate as soon pulled off to reveal Davy holding onto the rope, staring in horror at what he was seeing. The English boy quickly lowered himself into the crate and untied the handkerchief.

"Mike, are you okay!?" he asked, as he quickly got to work untying the ropes around Mike's wrists and ankles.

"I am now, Tiny," the Texan exhaled, sitting up in the crate and giving his companion a wan smile.

Davy managed a grin and hugged him in relief.

"If I have to rescue you from a well one more time, I'm changing your name to Timmy."

"That would make you Lassie."

"…Forget that, then."

The crate suddenly dropped an inch downward, and the two pulled away from the hug.

"What was that?" Davy asked.

"Please tell me you put the candle out before you climbed down here," Mike said.

"…What candle?"

"The candle that's almost burned through the rope," Mike said, wincing. "With both of us in this crate, it's not gonna hold for much—"

The words weren't even out of his mouth when the rope snapped. The Texan and the English boy clutched at each other's shoulders, bracing for the landing as gravity grabbed ahold of them.


	14. A Study in Mayhem

There were times when Mike wasn't sure as to how much of their escaping scrapes was due to their ability to get themselves out of trouble versus sheer dumb luck.

This time, however, there was no denying the sheer dumb luck involved in what happened.

For one thing, the depth of the water in the well had been just perfect—deep enough that the landing wasn't painful, but shallow enough that they could easily stay above water.

"Well…" the Texan sighed. "That coulda been a whole lot worse."

"Don't say that; whenever Micky says something like that, things _do_ get worse…" the English boy said, frantically holding a now-soggy piece of old paper over his head to keep it out of the water.

"Is that…?"

"The page from the Book of Ages? Yeah, it is—I picked it up from the floor after they took you away and then followed them."

Mike looked at him for a moment and then grinned.

"You did good, Tiny. You did real good. I owe you one, and we all owe you another." His grin faded, however, as he looked up at the opening of the well—yards over their heads, and certainly out of reach. "Unfortunately, we've got another problem to deal with here. And we might have quite a while to deal with it."

Davy looked up, as well, and sighed.

"Looks like despite my efforts, you're stuck at the bottom of a well yet again."

"Yeah, well… I've got me some good company this time to make it bearable. We just gotta hope Mick and Pete find us before long."

"I didn't tell them where I was going; I just left," Davy said. "They wouldn't know how to look for us here…"

"Well," Mike sighed. "At least they can't be any worse off than we are, right?"

* * *

"Well…" Micky squeaked. "At least Mike and Davy can't be any worse off than we are, right?"

Peter didn't answer, he just clutched at the brunet's arm as they stared up at Zero.

"So…" Micky said, as he casually slipped Professor Song's letter to Peter's free hand. "What brings you here?"

"Seeking out some potential customers—it's what I do," Zero replied. "But I also have an intense dislike of being spied upon by young upstarts who think they can outwit me!"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Peter asked, innocently.

"I mean that if honestly believed that nobody noticed Nesmith hiding his face behind a fan, you really are as dumb as people say you are!"

"You don't have to insult him," Micky quipped. "I know you're still sore that you didn't get his soul; you're sore that you didn't get any of our souls!" He quickly murmured to Peter out of the corner of his mouth, "_Read the letter_."

Peter blinked, not quite catching what he was saying.

"At this point in time, all I want is Nesmith," Zero continued. "Of course, the rest of you three are all bonuses, as far as I'm concerned…" He trailed off, noticing that only Peter and Micky were present.

"_The letter, Peter_," Micky murmured again, while Zero was looking for Davy.

"What? I don't underst—"

"_Peter_!" Micky quietly fumed, silently indicating the Vortex Manipulator around his wrist.

The blond's eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

"Oh—!

"_Quiet_!" Micky hissed, as Zero turned back to them; the brunet put on a casual smile. "Looking for someone?"

"Where is Jones?"

"Well, gosharooney, I don't know," Micky said, shrugging. "See, he split without telling us where he went. I mean, there're a million places he could've gone. Heck, maybe he tried to go back to the waterway crossing to see if he could recover anything from our cart. We had a pretty bumpy ride getting here…" _Come on, Peter; I can't stall him forever! Hurry it up, will ya!?_

Peter, in the meantime, was trying very hard to read without drawing attention to himself. The professor's instructions seemed simple enough—all you had to do was enter in the coordinates or name of the place you wanted to go to, as well as the time period. And she had provided coordinates for them. The problem would be trying to do it without attracting Zero's attention.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Zero said. "Nesmith is currently at the mercy of Posey and her gang, who, I am certain, have a nasty fate in store for him. And if Jones is foolish enough to follow, the same will befall him. And now that leaves you two."

Micky gulped.

"Ah, well, uh… we're just on our way ourselves, actually…"

He grabbed Peter by the arm and stood up, moving to guide him from behind the bar and out the door. But Zero snapped his fingers, and the boys froze in their tracks, unable to move.

"Going somewhere?" Zero asked. "Afraid not. We've got things to discuss. Namely your signing some contracts."

"Contracts!?" Micky exclaimed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Peter struggled to move his hand to punch in the coordinates on the Vortex Manipulator. "You don't have anything we want!"

"Not even a chance to save the lives of your friends?" Zero asked. "I don't think you're quite aware of how Posey and her gang deal with people who try to cross them. The man I was speaking to is notorious for his sadistic means of dealing with his foes."

"And they've got Mike and Davy?!" Micky gasped.

"I believe you're beginning to understand," Zero smirked, and two pieces of paper appeared in his hands. "You know what you need to do now, don't you?"

"Sure do," Peter said, as he finished putting in the coordinates. "We save them—just like we always do!"

He pushed the input button, and, in the blink of an eye, he and Micky disappeared…

…Only to reappear beside Mike and Davy in the well, who were contemplating what seemed to be a futile escape attempt.

"If I gave you a boost, how high do you think you could make it up?" the Texan was asking.

"Not high enough," the English boy stated.

"Betcha we could make it easy with all four of us on each other's shoulders," Micky said, grinning to see them both alive and well, even if trapped.

"Yeah, Mick; we sure could use…" Mike trailed off as he and Davy both turned to stare at Micky and Peter.

"Nice to see you again, too," Peter said, smiling. "Here's your hat, Mike—Davy left it in the saloon."

Mike took his Stetson back, still staring.

"How…?" Davy began, pointing blankly at the top of the well.

"The weirdo wristwatch," Micky said, holding it up. "Finally learned how to use it. So, how about we take the easy way out of here?"

Peter handed him the letter from Professor Song. After a quick glance at it, Micky set in some coordinates, and after the other three held onto his arm, pressed the input button. An instant later, they were out of the well, and beside the El Dorado.

"Now that is groovy," Mike said. "Hey, we can just use that thing to get back to Malibu; it doesn't have an attitude like the Eldy does here—"

The police box, taking offense, suddenly swung one of her doors out, smacking Mike in the face. Davy cringed and helped him out from behind the door, silently holding up the recovered page from the Book of Ages as a peace offering to the time machine. She seemed satisfied, and gently opened the other door to let them in.

"I think you hurt her feelings, Mike," Peter said, as they headed inside.

"And she hurt my face," the Texan said, gingerly rubbing his nose. "Alright, I take it back."

"Yeah, let's make peace with her and split before Zero catches up to us," Micky said.

"Right; we'll just…" Mike trailed off again. "WHAT!?"

"He knew you were spying on him, and he knew we were hiding behind the bar," Peter said. "He tried to get Micky and me to sign those contracts of his to help you two out of your little jam. Luckily, I got Micky's wristwatch working just in time."

"Sheer dumb luck saves us yet again," Mike sighed, as the El Dorado took off, not keen on sticking around for Zero to find her.

Davy suppressed a shudder as he placed the recovered page back into the Book of Ages. Things could have gone so wrong, he realized.

"Sorry your trip into the Old West wasn't what you were hoping for," he said to the Texan.

"Eh…" Mike said, with a shrug. "It ain't a trip into the Old West until you get tied up by an outlaw, anyway. And maybe someday, we'll come back during a time when we can actually enjoy things." He looked to the doors as they arrived at their next destination. "Someone wanna look out there and tell me where we are?"

Davy shrugged and went to take a look.

"Please be California… please be California…" he murmured, as he opened the door. He let out an "Ooh!"

"Not California?" Mike sighed.

"No—but it's just as good!" Davy said, grinning. "We're in England! …Victorian London, if you want to get specific."

"Right, we know the drill," Micky said. "Get the page and get outta here."

After changing into some era-appropriate garb, the quartet exited the time machine and began to wander around the cobblestone streets.

"Would be nice if we knew where to look for the page," Peter said. "Even just a hint or something would be helpful."

"A hint?" Zero's voice purred from all around them. "If you want this to end, you know there's an easy way to do it."

The quartet clutched at each other's arms.

"Now this has gone far enough!" Mike said, yelling at their invisible foe. "Haven't you put us through enough misery!?"

"Never enough—not after what you did," Zero retorted.

"You were gonna take my friends' souls!" Mike snapped back. "It's not like I woke up one morning and went, 'Well, I think I'll just tick off the devil!' I didn't want this!"

"And now, you've got it," Zero said. "How long will it be before I break you, Nesmith? How long will it be before I see you at my feet?"

"When your backyard freezes over!" Mike retorted.

A fireball shot out of the sky at them in response. The crowd didn't seem to notice—both the fireball and Zero's taunting seemed to be only visible and audible to the quartet.

"RUN!" the Texan yelled.

Zero's cackles filled the air as they narrowly dodged the fireball. Another fireball went soaring past their heads—and then another.

"Micky, use that thing and get us off of this street!" Davy yelped.

"Uh… uh… where to?!" the brunet squawked, ducking as yet another fireball soared dangerously close by them.

"Anywhere but here!" Mike yelled back. "There's gotta be somewhere in this city we can be safe!"

The brunet frantically put in a location and hit the input button again, just as a fireball came within inches from them. Slowly, they opened their eyes to find themselves in a Victorian drawing room. All was quiet; the only fire in the room was the crackling fireplace.

"Nice work, Micky," Peter sighed, relieved.

"Okay…" Mike said, pacing the floor of the room. "We gotta put our heads together and figure out how to get that page without Zero seeing us—and before that, we need to find it."

"He's stacking everything against us," Davy said, glancing absently at a painting of a waterfall over the fireplace.

"That's because he can—and he knows it," Micky sighed, a chemistry set in the back of the room catching his eye.

Mike ran his fingers over a Stradivarius violin placed on a desk as he pondered over their situation, absently playing a few notes of "Papa Gene's Blues" as he gently plucked at the strings.

"There's really only one way I can see us pulling it off," he said. "If I stall him—get into an argument or something, that'll leave you three able to explore long enough to find the page."

"We're not letting you face him alone, Mike," Davy insisted, as Micky and Peter nodded in agreement. "_Never_."

"Now, look; you guys have gotta understand—"

Mike was cut off as the door to the sitting room opened, and two men entered. The one in the lead—tall and dark-haired—arched an eyebrow at the quartet. The shorter, graying-haired man frowned.

"You didn't tell me we had clients," he said to his companion.

"I must confess, I wasn't aware of it, either," the dark-haired man said, bemused.

"Micky…" Mike said. "When you randomly put in a location, you didn't…"

"Punch in 221B Baker Street?" Micky finished, sheepishly. "Yeah, I think I did."


	15. Doctor, Detective, and Musicians

There was an awkward silence as the quartet exchanged glances under the watchful eye of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.

Micky cleared his throat.

"Uh… sorry about this," he said. "We were looking for somewhere safe, and your place was the first place I thought of. Er, I mean, uh…" He went slightly red as he shook Holmes's hand. "This… this is just an honor, really. I mean, I've read every single one of Doctor Watson's stories in the _Strand_. And I even got into chemistry because of you—and sometimes, I even try a little deductive reasoning!" The Californian's face split into a grin. "Aw, heck, I've even got a deerstalker; let me show you—"

"_Micky_!" Mike chided.

Holmes arched an eyebrow as Micky gulped and fell silent.

Mike turned back to the detective, sheepishly.

"Look, this is all just a big misunderstanding," he said. "Sorry to bother y'all; we'll be on our way. Come on, guys; let's split…"

"Well, if you must go," Holmes said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You are all more than free to take your leave—and whenever you desire to do so. Though I must say that it isn't often that a quartet of musicians displaced in space and time decides to invade the flat. Is that not so, Watson?"

The doctor gave the detective a look, but the quartet all stared, open-mouth.

"Ah… look, uh, I don't know what you're talking about here," Mike bluffed. "We were just in the neighborhood—?"

"How did you know!?" Micky blurted out. "I mean, I know you were good, but I didn't realize you were _that_ good!"

Holmes glanced at him in amusement.

"For one thing, it was your leader's innate attraction to my Stradivarius," the detective said, silently indicating Mike, who still had his hand on the violin. "And there are the calluses on your own hand—you play the drums, do you not?"

Micky stared at his hands.

"_Wow_," he said, grinning even broader than before. "Right on, Man!"

"…And such vernacular also suggests that you are not from this era, either. You are not the first time-traveler I have encountered; there was once a man I met who traveled through space and time in the oddest blue box—do you not remember, Watson?"

"Oh, yes… How does one forget that?" Watson mused, shaking his head in exasperation. Clearly, the man had left quite an impression.

"Blue box?" Davy asked. He looked to Mike. "But that's…"

"The Eldy—I know," the Texan murmured. He had never once given a thought to the idea that the El Dorado had belonged to someone else; looking back, he realized that the key and the hats he had found at the bottom of the well—including the woolhat he now wore atop his head—had to have belonged to the person who put them there. So why not the Eldy, too…? Still, now wasn't the time to ponder over that.

"But… you're Sherlock Holmes," Micky said. "How can you believe in stuff like time traveling so easily."

"As I once said, '_Once you have eliminated the impossible_—'"

"Oh, yeah… '…_Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_,'" Micky finished.

Holmes looked amused.

"Watson, it seems as though you have acquired yourself at least _one_ loyal reader for your poor scribblings…"

Watson rolled his eyes, but remained silent.

"Look, Mick," Mike said. "I'm happy for you that you're meeting your hero and all that, but we've got work to do, and standing around here talking about it isn't gonna help us, now is it?"

"It might," Peter pointed out. "We need help finding something, and now we've met a detective."

"Not just _a_ detective—the best," Micky reminded him. "If there's anyone who can help us find that missing page, it's him!"

"Well, then, if you wish to discuss it, do take a seat," Watson offered them.

"Yes; tell me everything," Holmes said, crossing to the door of the room. "Mrs. Hudson! My clients require tea and sandwiches!"

"Oh, no; y'all don't have to go through that kind of trouble for us…" Mike began, but he trailed off as Davy put a hand on his shoulder.

"English hospitality, Mike. Just enjoy it."

* * *

They couldn't give away all of the details, of course; Mike absolutely drew the line at telling them about Zero, but they described the page from the Book of Ages in detail, and how it was important that they reach it first.

"Now, you say that there was some sort of verse written on it?" Holmes asked, as Watson took down the notes.

"Yeah, every page we've found so far has that in common," Davy said. "'_The sky will come full circle when the extraordinary is believed_.'"

"And you have no idea what it means?"

"Not a clue," Mike agreed.

"I don't suppose it means anything to you?" Peter asked.

"I'm afraid not. Watson?"

"I must confess, it means nothing to me," he agreed. "Though I do recall seeing that verse—possibly the very paper these young gentlemen are looking for."

"You've seen the page?!" Micky exclaimed. "That's great! Where is it?!"

"Well, it's not here, I'm afraid," Watson said, apologetically. "Holmes and I spent the previous day attempting to solve a case aboard the steamship _Friesland_ while it was docked. I seem to recall seeing a page with those words while we were there."

"Excellent, Watson; where was it?"

"In the Captain's desk, among all the other papers we were looking though. I did think it odd at the time, but as it didn't seem to hold any significance, I decided not to draw it to your attention."

"That's it, then," Micky said. "We just need to make it to that ship and get the page. Hey, thanks a lot."

Holmes hesitated before exchanging a glance with Watson. Mike stared at them both, arching an eyebrow.

"There's something you haven't told us…"

"The _Friesland_ is due to depart in approximately thirty minutes," Holmes said. "It is why Watson and I had to abandon the smuggling case we were investigating aboard the vessel; our time ran out. We weren't able to find the evidence we were looking for against the ship's captain."

"You gave up on a case?!" Micky exclaimed. "But… you can't do that! You're Sherlock Holmes! You always solve the case!"

"Mick, he's only human," Mike reminded him.

"And we've got a bigger problem," Davy added. "If the _Friesland_ is leaving in thirty minutes…"

Peter's eyes widened, and he looked to the detective.

"How long will it take for us to get to where the _Friesland_ is?"

"You'll never make it," Watson said, shaking his head. "To get from London to the coast will take hours; we only returned from our failed expedition a few hours ago."

Davy facepalmed.

"Where's the boat headed? And when will it come back?"

"We can't wait that long!" Mike said. "You know what happens if… a certain other person figures out where it is! If we lose one page—just one—to him, then everything we've done so far will all be a giant waste!"

"And it gets worse," Peter said. "That other person can pop in and out of places whenever he wants."

Micky froze.

"So can we."

He held up his wrist, with the Vortex Manipulator on it.

"You really think we can?" Davy said. "It's saying it needs to recharge; that last transport must've drained it."

The Californian stared at the blinking warning on the screen.

"Oh, man…" he groaned. "Well, wait… I think we have just enough power to get us to the ship; but we're going to have to get that page and split; otherwise, that ship's going to leave with us on it."

"Guess we've got no other choice," Mike sighed. "But we've got one advantage here—no one's gonna know what we're doing." He turned back to the detective. "Well, thanks for all your help; we'd better get going."

"Wait a minute," Micky said, just before he started punching in the location of the dock. He looked to Holmes. "You guys were nice enough to help us; maybe we can help you with that smuggling case—we can take you along with us aboard the _Friesland_, so while we're getting the page, you can get that last bit of evidence you need to solve the case!"

Holmes pressed his fingertips together, considering Micky's offer.

"Well," he said, quietly. "I am not entirely certain that thirty minutes will be sufficient to find the evidence—"

"Awww, of course it'll be—you're Sherlock Holmes!" Micky said. "There isn't a case you can't solve—not with Watson by your side, at least!" He looked to Mike. "Can we help them, Mike?"

"Well, it is the least we can do after the tip they gave us," the Texan agreed. He extended a hand.

The detective exchanged a glance with Watson, and after a nod from the doctor, accepted the Texan's handshake.


	16. The Dutch Steamship Friesland

Micky soon got them all transported to the deck of the _Friesland_. He cast a wince at the brighter warning flashing on the Vortex Manipulator.

"There's not much power left to take us very far," he said. "We have to find that page before the ship leaves—otherwise, we won't have enough power for this thing to take us back to shore."

"Then let's not waste any time…" Holmes began, but he trailed off as he noticed the pale look on Mike's face.

Even though the ship had not left the dock, the Texan was already being affected by the rocking of the ship.

"Oh, Mike…" Davy said, wincing in sympathy.

"I didn't think it'd have been an issue if the ship wasn't moving," Micky said, sheepishly. "Sorry…"

"Do you wanna sit this one out?" Peter asked.

Mike shook his head.

"You guys… need me…." He clapped a hand over his mouth as his stomach lurched. Fortunately, everything stayed where it was supposed to.

Watson cleared his throat.

"I think you'll find some relief from the motion sickness if you apply pressure to the spot just below your wrist."

"Say what?" Mike said. "I'll try anything…"

Watson indicated the spot on Mike's arm, and Micky obligingly strapped the Vortex Manipulator to Mike's arm tightly so that he wouldn't have to constantly apply the pressure himself.

"How does that feel?" Davy asked.

Mike blinked.

"Hey, I think this here trick works!" he said. At least, he certainly wasn't feeling like he was about to retch. He turned back to Watson. "Thanks, man!"

The doctor nodded, and the detective cleared his throat.

"The captain's cabin is over there," Holmes said, quietly. "You'll need to pick the lock—"

"Not a problem," Davy said.

"Very well, then; it seems that you can take care of your situation on your own. Watson and I will search the boiler room for the evidence; that was the one place aboard the ship we hadn't been able to search before."

"What kind of evidence are you looking for?" Peter asked.

"Loot—or records of the loot. They're likely to have eliminated all records, but if there is a smuggler on board the vessel, his ill-gotten gains shall have to be aboard, as well."

"Okay, then we'll head our way, and meet y'all at the bottom of the gangplank in twenty minutes; that gives us ten minutes to split—to get out of here," Mike clarified, as Holmes arched an eyebrow at the unfamiliar usage of the word.

"Very well. Take care that you are not observed; if you are not mistaken for spies, you will be taken as stowaways. Either way, your outlook will not be hopeful."

"We'll remember that," Davy said, idly wondering whether these sailors would be superstitious and awed if they found out his name, much like the crazy pirates aboard the schooner on one of their previous misadventures. Even in the unlikely event that they were, he certainly wasn't going to depend on that to save them.

Holmes tipped his hat and left with Watson.

"Just think," Micky sighed. "We got to help Sherlock Holmes solve a case…"

"Well, he hasn't solved it yet," Mike said. "And we need to worry about that page more than anything."

He led the way to the captain's office. After knocking on the door quietly to make sure that there was no one there, Mike got the door open.

"Okay," he said. "He said it would be in the desk there somewhere."

"So all we gotta do is just walk over, open the desk drawers, and…" Micky trailed off, a disgusted look crossing his face. "…Try not to gag at the disgusting-looking half of a moldy fish sandwich."

"And you just _had_ to announce that?" Mike groaned, placing a hand over his stomach again. He tightened the strap of the Vortex Manipulator.

"It's all right; I'll get rid of it," Davy said, with a wave of his hand. "Just grab a napkin or something and… ewgh…!"

"Told ya it was disgusting-looking…" Micky intoned.

Peter took a look and made a face.

"Hey, there's a harpoon on the wall; maybe we can stab it with that," he said.

"Not worth the effort," Micky said, shutting the drawer. "Besides, there's nothing in there; the papers must be in another drawer—YAAAGH!"

Micky had pulled a second drawer open, only to find a large rat devouring the other half of the sandwich.

"That is just… just… I don't even know, Man." Micky shut the drawer, ignoring the rat's annoyed scratching at the wood. "At least we know that this captain is a slob. Let's try this drawer."

"Careful; there might be a snake in that one," Davy said, though he was only half-joking.

"If there is, I could handle it," Peter offered. "I had more than enough practice with the Medusa viper…"

"Aww, yeah; we've hit paydirt!" Micky said, pulling a stack of papers from the third drawer. "Grab part of the stack and start looking!"

Mike picked up a few sheets, knowing that, in his current state, he wouldn't be able to read much without feeling sick again.

"Hey, Fellas, I found it!" Davy exclaimed, holding up the page. Grinning, he handed the page to Peter, who pocketed it to place in the book.

"Great!" Micky said. "So we can get off the gangplank and wait for Holmes and Watson! …Something the matter, Mike?"

Mike frowned as he went over the pages in his hand.

"I dunno," he said. "These are the ship's manifests. There're an awful lot of coal shipments brought aboard in the last two weeks."

"Well, it _is_ a steamship," Peter said.

"Yeah, but fifty shipments of coal in two weeks?" Mike said. "Something's not adding up."

"Well, maybe they're just playing it safe and not wanting to run out?" the blond offered.

"You can get coal at just about any port, can't you?" Davy asked. "Why would they stock up so much—and where would they keep it all?"

"In the boiler room?" Micky asked. "That's probably what Holmes is uncovering right now."

"This much coal would need more than one boiler room for it to be stored in. And if there was an obscene amount of coal in the holds, that would've sparked Holmes's suspicions, wouldn't it?" the Texan asked. "Eh, nevermind. It's not our problem; we got what we came for, so let's get outta here."

He took a peek out the door to make sure that no one was around. After confirming that the coast was clear, he led the others out.

"Now that I think of it, it's also kind of weird that no one else is around when the ship's about to leave," Micky said.

He sighed, looking around the empty deck. As he looked behind him, and then looked up, he frowned.

"Guys, look at the smokestacks…"

"There're two of them," Peter said.

"Yeah, and there's only smoke coming out of one of them," Micky said. "Guys, can you give me a boost?"

"You really think this is a good idea?" Mike asked. "Oh, fine; take a quick look and then get back down here."

He and Peter gave Micky the boost he needed—and before they could move, Davy took advantage of the boost and followed him up.

"Davy!" Mike hissed. "Davy, get down here—oh, forget it…"

"Hey, he's my own personal Watson," Micky said. "Don't split the dream team up!"

Mike grumbled a "whatever," as Peter grinned.

Micky led the way to the smokestacks.

"See?" he said, as Davy followed him. "Something's up. "This smokestack is hot—you can feel the heat from it. But this one…" He gingerly felt the second one with his fingertips before going closer. "It's cold." He took a peek inside with a flashlight. "And there's not a trace of soot or coal dust. What do you think, Davy?"

"Definitely no soot or coal dust," the English boy agreed. "But… I think there is something down there—something bright and metal."

"Really?" Micky asked, leaning into the smokestack.

"Mick, be careful!" Mike hissed from the deck as Peter bit his lip in nervousness.

"Davy, you're right!" Micky exclaimed. "I think it's gold!"

"Gold?" Davy asked, his eyes widening. "As in smugglers' gold!?"

"Well, who else would hide gold in a fake smokest-AAAAAAAAAACK!"

Micky had leaned over too far and was pitched headfirst down the fake smokestack. Davy yelped and tried to grab him by the ankles, but he didn't have enough leverage and fell down with him.

"Davy! Micky!" Mike yelled.

"We gotta get to the boiler room!" Peter exclaimed.

* * *

Holmes and Watson, in the meantime, were studying what the boiler room had to offer. They, too, had found it deserted—something which had made the both of them suspicious.

"You would have expected a stoker to be here, at the very least…" Holmes mused.

"The fact that we haven't seen anyone aboard so close to departure is concern enough," Watson said.

The detective scanned the room, frowning as he saw two boilers—one was lit, burning coal to prepare for the imminent departure. The other, though it had coal within it, was not lit.

"Watson," he said. "Did you not observe, on the deck, that only one of the two smokestacks was issuing smoke?"

"Yes. It would seem that each smokestack has its own boiler—and only one is lit. Perhaps they light the other one to help them pick up speed later on?"

"Perhaps," Holmes said. "But the size of that boiler is more than sufficient to power the ship for its entire journey. Combine that with the vanished crew and captain, and…" He trailed off, striking a fist against the unlit boiler. "I have been blind, Watson—absolutely blind! The entire crew is in on the conspiracy!"

"Very true," a cold voice said.

The detective and the doctor turned to see the captain and the stokers with weapons trained on them. The captain walked over to the fake boiler and placed a hand on it. "We had this second smokestack placed with a moveable, false boiler." He obligingly moved the boiler aside, revealing the open fake smokestack. "With pegs inside to hold the bags of loot. No one would ever think to look." He aimed a gun at Holmes and Watson. "And I will make sure that no one ever will—"

He was cut off by Micky's frantic yell. First Micky, and then Davy, spilled from the fake smokestack, each of them decked in antique jewelry that they had dislodged on the way down.

The young Californian looked up with a very sheepish grin.

"…Hi?" he offered.


	17. The Great Pretender

The captain didn't have much of an opportunity to get over the shock of Micky and Davy falling from the smokestack; before he had even gotten a chance to process it, the boiler room door suddenly swung open, slamming into the two stokers who had been standing in front of it to prevent any escape.

Mike and Peter stared as the stokers were knocked off of their feet.

"Oops…" the blond said.

"Actually, Shotgun," Mike said, as Holmes and Watson quickly saw to the disarming of both stokers and the stunned captain. "I think we just made a good move."

"That, you did," Holmes said, and he turned to glare at the captain. "And now, Captain, if you will kindly accompany me to the deck, whereupon you will announce your surrender and instruct your crew to lay aside any arms, I would be most appreciative."

"How to take over a boat with style," Micky grinned. "He's just that awesome…"

Fortunately for all of them, the majority of the crew were willing to cooperate with Holmes; most of them had been threatened and blackmailed into working with the captain's nefarious plans.

Once Holmes and Watson had the crew under control and had sent the harbor master to summon the police, they saw to retrieving the evidence.

"There is more than enough here to incriminate them," the detective said, inspecting a medallion he held in his gloved hand.

Davy glanced at it, uneasy.

"Can I see that for a moment?" he asked.

Holmes held it out to him, but Davy took one look at the image of the Forbidden One carved upon it and backed away.

"Is that—?" Mike asked, his face going pale again, this time for a different reason.

Micky and Peter winced.

Both Holmes and Watson looked concerned by this reaction, and the detective hastily removed the offending item from sight.

"Perhaps it would be best if the four of you left," he said, sagely.

"Don't we have to make a statement, though?" Micky asked.

"And how would you explain your presence here?" Holmes asked. "Watson and I will find our way back to London; the four of you had best leave now."

"And we thank you once again for your help."

"Aww, gosharooney, it was nothing…" Micky said. "We were… we were glad to help."

Mike was pulling all of them away, now, and after their hasty goodbyes, the quartet headed down the gangplank of the _Friesland_, allowing Davy to protest.

"What are you doing!?" he asked. "This is how that medallion got to Europe—my grandfather will eventually get it into his possession. Don't you realize what we could do!? We could throw that thing into the water—no one would ever see it again!"

"That'd be rewriting history, wouldn't it?" Peter asked.

"For the better!" Davy insisted. "Mike wouldn't have had to endure the curse!"

"Tiny…" Mike said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Call me crazy, but I don't think we should."

"…_Why_!?"

"There's no point," the Texan explained. "You won already, Davy—_twice_. And we all learned something from those encounters with the Forbidden One. Those are lessons that would be a bad idea to change."

Davy considered this for a moment, and nodded.

"Well, now that we've gotten that all settled, let's get outta here," Mike added, unstrapping the Vortex Manipulator and handing it to Micky.

They were soon in the El Dorado, with the manipulator at no power left.

"How do you recharge this thing, anyway?" Micky wondered.

The Eldy's console whirred, and a panel opened, revealing some sort of charging pack. Micky picked it up and attached it to the Vortex Manipulator, which began to charge.

"Well, that's convenient," Davy said, with approval. "Now all we've got to do is stick around and hope we can go back home."

"No such luck," Mike said, with a sigh. "The console's saying that we're in Chicago, 1922."

"Then we've gotta dress for the occasion," Micky said, taking off his Victorian-era hat.

The quartet now began to search through the walk-in wardrobe, looking for something to go with the time period.

"You know, I've been thinking," Mike said, as he looked around the wide assortment of garments. "Holmes was saying that the Eldy belongs to someone else, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Peter said.

"That leaves us with some pretty important questions, then," Mike went on. "A—where is this fella now? B—who is he? And C—how ticked off is he gonna get when he finds out that the four of us have been joyriding in his time machine?"

The exchanged uneasy glances.

"I suppose we could just deny everything if he ever finds us," Micky said.

"How can we deny anything? We're raiding his wardrobe!" Davy exclaimed.

"Well, who knows—he might not be too upset," Peter said. "I mean, we are helping save the space-time continuum by getting the pages of the Book of Ages back, and all under Professor Song's orders."

"Hey, maybe she's the owner of this thing, then?" Micky asked.

Mike looked to Micky and then pulled a brown pinstriped suit from the many outfits; the suit was clearly a man's.

"I don't think so. But, at least, I did find something to wear…"

Davy scoffed and gave up.

"There won't be anything like that in my size," he said, exasperated.

"But there is," Peter said, pulling out a smaller suit.

Davy took it, but blinked.

"Why would this fella have suits in different sizes?"

"I don't know, but I do know one thing," Mike said, his eyes shining as he pulled out a black leather jacket. "This guy's got great taste in clothes!"

"Are you really sure about that?" Micky asked, pulling out a garish, multicolored coat. "Because this states otherwise. And so does this…" He pulled out a multicolored scarf that seemed to go on forever.

The quartet looked to each other and shrugged.

Things had stopped making sense a long, long time ago.

* * *

Nevertheless, the quartet did find what they were looking for, and they soon found themselves in pinstripe suits that helped them blend in perfectly. Micky had even found a fedora—wrapped up in the endless scarf—which was now part of his disguise.

"You know what?" the Californian said. "I can dig this. We can do what we did in the Old West—find a helpful bartender, have a nice chat, see if he knows anywhere that might have the missing page…"

"Bartenders? In the Prohibition Era?" Mike asked.

Micky shrugged.

"Well… Something close to that, then. I mean, there's still got to be somewhere where people go to unwind. It's the Roaring Twenties! I wouldn't mind staying here a while, even after we find the page!"

"Yeah?" Mike asked. "Well, I've got a news flash for you, Micky—the Old West wasn't all I'd hoped it'd be. Don't get your hopes too high here, either, okay? I don't want to see you disappointed or disillusioned."

"Aww, don't worry about it!" Micky said. "Really, the worst we could run into here right now is—"

"Don't say it!" Peter yelped, covering Micky's mouth with his hand. "Every time you say something like that, it happens!"

The quartet then turned the corner to see small, nondescript door in one of the buildings in the street. And standing there, outside the door, was none other than Mr. Zero.

"I think it just happened," Davy said.

"But I didn't say anything this time!" Micky protested.

"And we're not going to say another word," Mike said, pulling the other three through the door. He blinked to see that they had entered some sort of restaurant.

The patrons inside were dressed in a similar style as they were, and the many faces scrutinizing them as they stood in the doorway made the quartet very uncomfortable indeed. Every single person was staring at them.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Mike said.

He looked behind him, wondering if Zero was still there. Carefully, he backed towards the door, opening it slightly.

"Hey, I think he's gone."

The others quickly joined Mike to take a look

"Where'd he go?" Davy asked.

"Behind you," Zero answered.

The quartet yelped and whirled around; Mike stepped forward, determined to put himself between Zero and his friends.

"You may relax, Nesmith," Zero said, looking bored. "I realize that I've been going about this all wrong; chasing you through time and space has proven to be more trouble than it's worth."

"Great; so you can just mosey on off, and we'll pretend this never happened, and we'll never bother you again," Mike said.

"Unfortunately, that would still mean that you will be the winner," Zero said. "And I can't have that. We need to propose a truce—I can give you something you want, but you're going to have to give me something I want."

"We're not interested in making any deals," Mike said. "You want what I can't give you. See, I got plans for this here soul of mine."

"But wouldn't you like to have the peace of mind knowing that your friends will be unharmed by anything in this universe?" Zero asked.

"We wouldn't have any peace of mind," Davy hissed, gripping Mike's arm. "That wouldn't be possible, knowing that he'd be stuck with you."

"We don't mind running into trouble every five minutes," Peter agreed. "At least we're running together."

"So you can take your wheeling and dealing somewhere else!" Micky finished.

Zero scowled at all of them.

"Have it your way," he said. "Now, I'm through with being nice. The kid gloves are coming off."

"When were they ever on—?" Mike began, but he was cut off as Zero waved his arm in a sweeping gesture.

The quartet were sent flying through the air; Mike and Davy crash landed on one of the empty back tables while Peter managed to grab onto the chandelier as he flew past it, giving a little yelp as his feet kicked the empty air.

Micky, however, landed on top of a crowded table; in addition to the food, there had been several stacks of papers on the table that the men had been discussing, and, for a moment, the Californian thought he was going crazy as the missing page from the Book of Ages fluttered in front of his face.

Realizing that he wasn't just seeing things, Micky quickly reached out and grabbed the floating, ancient page, crumpling it into his left hand as one of the men turned him over to glare at him.

And, just as he had done with the _Friesland's_ captain, there was very little else that Micky could do other than give a sheepish hello.


	18. The Legend of Fedora Dolenz

_Notes: Apologies in advance, but it's looking as though I won't be able to make an update on this fic next weekend; I'll make it up to my readers with a bonus Lone Star and Union Jack update the following weekend._

* * *

One of the men glared down at Micky.

"And just who are you supposed to be?"

The Californian glared back up, refusing to be intimidated. When he spoke, it was with his Cagney impression.

"They call me Fedora Dolenz, and don't you forget it, you dirty rat," he said, his lips curling into a sneer. He glared at Zero. "Fedora Dolenz doesn't appreciate being pushed around, see? Fedora Dolenz has got a lesson to teach—"

Micky stopped short as one of the other men grabbed his left wrist. He clutched at the paper in his right hand, hoping that they wouldn't notice.

"We got a lesson to give you, too," the lead man sneered. "Nobody—but nobody—interrupts us. Not without paying a price."

"Well, uh…" Micky said. "Fedora Dolenz doesn't carry cash. Fedora Dolenz doesn't work that way."

"Well, Fedora Dolenz is going to hand this over as payment, then," the man said, indicating the charging Vortex Manipulator around his wrist.

"Hand over the wha—NO!" Micky exclaimed. "That's not even mine; I'm… holding it for someone!"

"Well, now we're holding it," one of the other men sneered as he ripped it from Micky's wrist. The brunet yelped, and Mike and Davy now moved to help, but were stopped by two of the men standing in their way.

"You don't understand," Micky said. "I really, really, need to give that back to the lady who loaned it to me."

"Give her some dough in exchange," the man snarled, shoving Micky over to Mike and Davy. He soon got up and headed out the door with his flunkies.

Peter now landed on the ground, having let go of the chandelier. He picked himself up at once.

"You okay, Micky?"

"Sorta?" Micky said. "The good news is that I got the page from the Book of Ages. The bad news is that they've got Professor Song's time-traveling wristwatch—the one that she's expecting back."

"And, knowing the El Dorado, we won't be able to leave without getting it back," Mike sighed.

"Not that it would be the best idea to let a bunch of mobsters run around with a watch that can send people through time and space," Davy intoned. "The last thing we need is to contend with time-traveling mobsters."

"Especially when Zero is causing enough trouble as it is," Peter said. "Come on; we've gotta follow them and get that thing back!"

The quartet stampeded out of the establishment and saw the men entering a building across the street.

"Let me handle this," Davy said. "There are certain advantages to being short—one is that you're harder to spot."

"Davy—!" Mike began, but the English boy had already darted across the street, heading inside the building.

For about fifteen nerve-wracking minutes, there was silence. Mike had had enough by that point, and charged across the street to follow him, but just as he had opened the door of the building, Davy collided with him.

"Took you long enough," Mike groaned.

"Well, I had to make sure I knew exactly where they kept the thing, didn't I?" Davy said. "Anyway, you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Give the bad news first," Peter said, as he and Micky caught up with them. "Then the good news will help us feel a little better."

"Well, they've kept the wristwatch thing in a desk drawer," Davy said. "It's in that room, right next to the window." He pointed to a window on the third floor of the building. "It's in the back of the room, so trying to go in the front way is out of the question; we'd have to find a way through the window."

"And what's the good news?" Micky asked.

"They don't know what it is, and they've given up trying to figure out what it is, and they're talking about just hoping they can find a seller for it."

"Well, wait a minute!" Mike said, rooting through the pockets of the pinstripe suit he was wearing. "Whoever owns the Eldy has to have some money lying around from all sorts of different time periods—aha!" He found several sets of money clips (among a whole host of other things) that did seem to hold money from different eras.

"Let's see here… English pounds, American dollars from our time… I guess this stuff here is from the future… Here we are!" He waved the money clip in front of the others. "We can buy it back."

"They won't sell it back to me," Micky said.

"No, but they didn't get a good look at the rest of us since they were busy bawling you out," Mike pointed out.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to use this guy's money?" Peter said. "I mean, we've taken his time machine and raided his wardrobe… I think spending his money is going just a little bit too far."

"So, we'll pay him back with money from our time."

"How?" Davy asked, incredulously. "We already owe Mr. Babbitt money for ruining his lawn last night—when we fought the Angels, remember?"

Mike blinked, still having trouble grasping that it had only happened, from their perspective, a night ago.

"Okay, then, anyone got any other ideas—other than leaving this fella an IOU?" he asked.

"I got one," Micky said, smirking. "You talk to the guy and flash the money around. While they're drooling over the dough, I can sneak in and steal it back from them. This way, I keep my honor and prove that you can't pull a fast one on Fedora Dolenz. It's a cinch, you guys!"

"Excuse me, Fedora Dolenz?" Mike asked, taking the hat off of the Californian's head and swatting him with it. "This isn't a game here, you know; all they need to do is turn around and see you raiding the desk, and it's curtains for all of us."

Micky took the hat back and placed it on his head.

"So, I'll be careful. You distract them with that wonderful Texan charm of yours."

He patted Mike's cheek.

"Don't do that."

"What about me?" Davy asked. "I can charm just fine!"

"You can go, too—in fact, that'll probably be better; Mike will have more credibility if he's got a right-hand man!"

"Ya hear that, Tiny? I got credibility—and you're it."

"Wow, my grandfather will be so proud…"

"What about me?" Peter asked.

"I'm glad you asked, Buddy," Micky said. "You get to stand on the fire escape and give me a boost through the window."

Peter glanced at the others and shrugged, hoping that this would be one of Micky's crazy schemes that didn't end in total disaster.

* * *

Mike sighed as he knocked on the door of the little office where the men were.

"What are you thinking?" Davy asked.

"I'm thinking my original plan of giving the Eldy's owner an IOU is looking like a pretty good idea right about now…" Mike said, chewing on a toothpick.

The man who had taken the Vortex Manipulator opened the door for them.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Shady Tex," Mike said. "And this is Jonesy."

Davy arched an eyebrow and sneered in greeting, much like the man was doing.

"We hear you've got a contraption that you don't know what it is," Mike said. "And that you'd like to sell."

"How do you know about that?" the man asked.

"Word travels fast 'round these parts. Of course, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

The man glared at him and then nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He cast a look at his flunkies, wondering which of them had sung.

Mike inwardly breathed a sigh of relief; he had been gambling with that one…

"So you wanna buy, huh?" the man said, beckoning Mike and Davy in. "What's it to you?"

"I like contraptions," Mike said. "I like to take 'em apart and build things out of the pieces—once they're all smashed."

He punched his right fist into his left hand for emphasis. Davy tried not to wince as Mike's pupils dilated in pain.

"And you sell them when you've built them?"

"That's the general idea," Davy said, gruffly. "We're rolling in dough 'cause of this little scheme. Show him that we're good for this, Tex."

Mike silently pulled the money clip into view.

"There's more where these came from," he grunted.

"Alright," the man said. "We'll sell it to ya—on one condition."

"Yeah? What?"

"You gotta give us 40% of your profits when you sell."

"No deal!" Mike said, much to Davy's befuddlement. "No more than 20%!"

"Thirty-five!"

"Twenty-five!"

Davy was going to causally step on Mike's foot to snap him out of it, thinking that he had immersed himself just a bit too much into his role, but it soon became clear as to why Mike was milking it for all it was worth—Peter had just gotten the window open, and had given Micky a boost inside.

Davy forced himself not to react to the sight of the Californian silently opening the drawer and retrieving the Vortex Manipulator with a silent sigh of relief. He strapped it back around his wrist, removing the charging pack as the display indicated that charging was complete.

"Thirty percent of the profits, and that's all you're gonna get!" Mike said.

The man stared at Mike.

"Alright, you got a deal," he said, turning on the spot.

Mike suppressed a yelp, but Micky didn't as everyone saw him and Peter, who was outside on the fire escape.

"What in the…?" the man began.

"Nobody steals from Fedora Dolez," Micky growled. "And his comrade-in-arms…"

"…The Mobster Without a Nickname," Peter chirruped.

Mike now grabbed Davy by the shoulder and ran. The man glared at them.

"After them!" he ordered his men, before turning back to Micky. "And as for you, Fedora Dolenz—"

"There's something else you gotta know," Micky said. "Fedora Dolenz always gets the last laugh."

He dove through the window, dragging Peter with him; the two of them went over the fire escape railing. Peter yelled out in alarm, but Micky wasn't bothered; and as the man leaned out of the window, he could only stare as Micky hit the device on his arm… and then vanished, along with the blond, into thin air.

The man leaned back into the room as his men returned.

"That Fedora Dolenz!" one of them exclaimed. "He appeared outta nowhere with that blond kid! They grabbed Shady Tex and Jonesy! And then they vanished—just disappeared! All four of them!"

"What do we do, Boss!?" the other said.

The man in charge shook his head.

"New rule here, Boys. That's the last time we buy bathtub liquor from Harry…" he said.


	19. Notes

_Notes: Still working on that Lone Star and Union Jack update I promised; I should have that posted tomorrow._

* * *

The quartet now reappeared a few yards from where Mike had left the El Dorado. Mike, Davy, and Peter were trying to recover from that narrow escape. Micky, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful.

"That was _amazing_," he said, grinning broadly. "That was _awesome_, Man. That was the most fun I've had in long time! That was—"

"—Something I never want to do ever again," Mike finished.

"Glad someone enjoyed it, at any rate," Davy agreed.

"I gotta go along with them this time, Micky," Peter added.

Micky shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter; we got the page, we got the weirdo wristwatch, and we are good to go!"

"Now _that_, I can dig," Mike said.

He led them to the time machine, but paused as he saw a note attached to one of the doors.

"Don't tell me we were ticketed for double-parking…" Peter said.

"It's not a ticket," Mike said, grimly, as he removed it from the door. "It's worse—a note from old Zero himself."

"I wondered what had happened to him," Davy groaned. "I knew it was too good to be true when he stopped following us…"

"What does it say?" Peter asked.

"Is it too much to hope that it's a note of surrender?" Micky asked.

"Shush," Mike said, and he held it out for all of them to read.

_My sincerest congratulations on winning this round, as well as all of the previous ones, Nesmith. But your victories will end now. As I mentioned to you in our last encounter—before the four of you so rudely ran off after those mobsters, I might add—I realize that I have been going about this all wrong. I made sure that specific pages from the Book of Ages went missing—pages that mentioned you—in the hopes that you would become stranded and separated in the past. I put you through a series of difficult challenges, due to the content of those pages. Clearly, my plan has failed._

_You will understand, of course, that I simply cannot allow this to continue. It doesn't look right for me to be belittled in such a manner by four no-name musicians with no magical powers._

_Your strength is drawn from each other; I see that very clearly now. And while I thought it would be possible to devise trials and tribulations that could succeed in tearing you apart, it seems that plan is impossible._

_To that end, I have devised a new plan—one that is sure to succeed. There is more than one way to try to tear the four of you apart; I shall save the juiciest of those ideas as a backup plan if this one should fail. However, I am confident that I will succeed—it is all too easy to tear apart those who have never been together._

The note ended abruptly, at that point, leaving the quartet exchanging nervous glances with each other.

"What did he mean?" Davy asked.

"Well, he did say that chasing us was more trouble than it was worth; it looks like he's going to try something else," Micky said. "The question is… 'What?'"

"Whatever it is, it can't be good," Mike said, grimly, as he unlocked the doors of the El Dorado and allowed them entry.

Micky handed Peter the page from the Book of Ages, and the blond let out an exclamation of surprise as he placed the page back.

"There are only four more pages missing!" he said. "I could've sworn there were a whole bunch more than that!"

"He gave the pages back?" Mike asked, baffled. "All but four of them?"

"It seems like it!" Peter said.

"But why would he give the pages _back_?" Davy asked baffled. "He must have rewritten them!"

The console of the El Dorado whirred, and Mike blinked in surprise.

"Nope; she says they're unchanged; all that we need to get are those remaining pages, but Zero's after them, too."

"Anybody else think this is way, way, _way_ too good to be true here?" Micky asked, now being the skeptic.

"Yes," Davy said, without hesitation.

"With Zero involved, anything in our favor is too good to be true," Mike said, flatly. "Especially something like this—after all that we went through to get the first five pages back, he wouldn't give us a whole bunch more without something up his sleeve. We gotta be careful here."

"Is he here!?" Peter suddenly wondered, looking at the corridor that led to a maze of others.

The console whirred again.

"She says he's not here—he just popped in, dropped off the pages, stuck the note on the door, and left."

"I don't like the idea of Zero being able to pop in and out of here as he pleases," Peter said. "You'd think this place would be safe, at least…"

"Well, the Eldy was standing still," Mike said. "Even then, it's probably within Zero's power to pop in even in flight. Because _everything_ is stacked up against us when Zero is involved."

"Then your old idea of being on the run probably wouldn't have worked out," Micky said.

"Probably not…" Mike sighed. "I don't know what made me think it would work. I guess I wanted to believe that there could be something that would give us an edge against Zero. But there isn't."

"That'll just make it better when we win," Davy said, flatly. The others looked to him, and he nodded in affirmation of his words. "Well, _I'm_ not admitting defeat. What about you three?"

"No way!" Peter declared.

"…'Course I'm not giving up," Mike said. "Not while I've still got something to fight for…"

"Awww, heck no!" Micky said, striking a post. "Fedora Dolenz doesn't give up without a fight—they'll have to take him kicking and screaming!"

"Can we lose the Fedora Dolenz thing?" Mike asked, rolling his eyes. "That's not even your fedora!"

"So? I got one back at the Pad," the Californian said, taking the brown fedora off of his head. "Hey, now there's an idea…"

"What?" Peter asked.

"Well, this guy who owns the Eldy… Maybe he's got some pointers on how to secure her against Zero popping in and out whenever he pleases."

"I don't think anyone can have pointers for something like that unless they've dabbled in the priesthood," Mike grunted. "But it's better than just sitting here wondering what to do next, anyway." He walked over to the console and cleared his throat. "Hey, uh… think you can get us in touch with the fella who owns you?"

A small panel in the console opened, and a piece of odd-looking paper appeared out of the slot, followed by a circular disc. The paper was blank at first, but then words started to appear on it.

"Would you look at this!?" Mike exclaimed, his eyes going wide.

The others crowded around the paper, reading the words upon it in messy, hasty scribbles.

_Place disc in console drive. Code word: Geronimo_.

"What is it?" Peter asked

"Some kind of computer program?" Micky asked, looking at the odd disc, which sparked with some sort of unearthly holographic effect. "Sure looks a lot cooler than the computer programs we have…"

"Shush," Mike said again, as he placed the disc in the slot and typed in the code word.

A light projected from the console, and the holographic image of a man in a tweed suit and bow tie appeared.

"_Well, well, well_," the image said. "_Took you long enough to consult me, didn't it? Still, perhaps it's a good sign; I know Professor River Song told me the TARDIS was in good hands. I generally don't approve of people other than myself using her, but seeing as though I metaphorically (though, probably literally) have my hands tied tight now, it's up to you lot to stop time and space from going too wobbly. Oi, Texan Long Legs—this message is for you, so I hope you're listening_."

Mike stared indignantly at the hologram.

"_You found a spare TARDIS key under a well in your little Texan village. You may think I'm foolish to have left the key to a time machine there, but, I assure you, it was done after a considerable amount of planning. Not just anyone can use that key, which means that you are on board the TARDIS to complete a very important mission_."

"Well, I didn't want a mission!" Mike argued. "I'm a musician—we are musicians! This here mission—us going around getting those pages—sounds like something that should've been _your_ hang-up!"

"_If you are ranting as River said you would, I suggest you stop; I am a pre-recorded message and can't hear you anyway. So!_" The hologram clapped his hands together and put on a mischievous smirk. "_Let's move on, shall we? This Zero fellow you're dealing with—nasty sort. I know! I've dealt with him before! River mentioned something about you wanting to keep him out of the TARDIS? I'd prefer that, as well. That button over there_…" The hologram pointed to part of the console. "_That is what you're looking for to activate the protective force fields. Opening the doors is the quick way to deactivate them. DO NOT OPEN THE DOORS WHILE INSIDE THE TIME VORTEX. VERY BAD THINGS HAPPEN, AND WE DON'T WANT THAT, DO WE?_"

The quartet stared and the hologram's expression softened.

"_Right. Well… That's all I can do from here, I'm afraid, other than give you this warning: Time can be rewritten, but it must not be—especially Fixed Points. I really can't over-stress the importance of this. And, Texan Long Legs? You look after the TARDIS; I'll still be needing her when you're all finished. You, Drummer Boy—I want that hat back; it took me a very long time to rebuild my hat collection after I left most of it behind beneath that well. You've gone and made a name for yourself in the 1920s—I'd recognize the description of that hat anywhere_. _A past version of myself was very fond of that hat…_"

Micky blushed and hit the fedora behind his back, forgetting that the hologram couldn't really see him.

"_And be conservative with the Vortex Manipulator; I know it's tempting to overuse, but it's not meant to be drained so quickly. You, Blond One, look after that book well. And you, Short One, have got the most important task of all. Keep everyone together and united; I know you've got it in you—it's in your blood_."

Davy blinked, not sure of what he meant.

"_This current leg of your journey is almost over, but there'll be another_," the hologram said. "_All I can do is offer you good luck_."

The hologram vanished.

"Well," Mike said, as he activated the force fields. "I don't dig this whole 'another leg of the journey' bit, at least he gave us some tips on how to protect the Eldy from Zero."

"Wonder how he knew who we were?" Peter asked, quietly.

"Eh, the professor probably told him—they seem to know each other," Micky said. "He was using her first name. And we've got to tell her about wanting to know about the force fields so that she can go back in time and tell him so that he can make that message for us about how to set them up."

"Great; you can handle that the next time we see her," Mike said, once he had finished setting them up. He took note that one of his bandmates was unusually quiet. "You alright there, Tiny?"

"I guess so," Davy said. "I guess I'm just confused. What did he mean, 'it's in my blood' about keeping us together? I don't know what he means; none of my family were famous or anything—my grandfather got some awards for being in British Intelligence, but that was very low-key."

"Isn't your uncle the Earl of Whatchamacallit?" Micky asked.

"Hagglethorn," Davy said, with a slight smile. "Yeah, that castle was part of the family birthright, and we sort of lost track of it. My uncle was the one who took a great deal of time and energy to get it back into the family. But we didn't band together to get the castle back or anything; it was mostly his doing; he started moving it brick by brick from Scotland to California when I was very little—something about only getting the castle back, but not the land it was on. He only finished right around the time when I came to California myself. It was his pet project, and he took pride in having moved it all by himself."

"Wait just a second…" Mike said. "Zero involved your uncle and that castle the last time he made life miserable for us, remember?"

Davy's eyes widened.

"You think—?"

"I don't know," Mike said. He turned to the console. "Hey, Eldy, think you can get us to—"

She was already on the move, and they had soon landed. Micky opened the doors, deactivating the force field in the process, and he let out an exclamation.

"California, here we are!"

He leaped out of the doors and kissed the ground.

"And we didn't even have to click our heels together and say, 'There's no place like home,'" Peter grinned.

"Ah, hold it," Mike said, glancing at the console. "Stop the celebrating. We're a few years off—four years before the present day, to be exact."

"Aww, come on!" Micky said, checking the manipulator and realizing that Mike was right. "We're so close!"

He tapped the manipulator's screen, as though hoping it would somehow change things. Peter got out and walked over to him to look over his shoulder. Realizing that there was no going around it, Micky sighed and got to his feet.

"Okay, so maybe if we just—"

The brunet was cut off as the manipulator glowed red with warning and began to emit sparks. And even as Mike and Davy, still inside the Eldy, turned to look in shock, Micky and Peter vanished before their eyes.


	20. Total Control of Beginnings

_Notes: The circumstances of Micky and Peter's meeting were borrowed, with permission, from PlushChrome; many thanks!_

* * *

"Micky!?" Davy cried. "Peter!?"

Mike waved a hand in the empty space, and then cursed aloud.

"Of course—that fella just warned us in his hologram message that the force fields would be deactivated if we opened the doors!" he fumed. "How could we have forgotten that so soon!?"

"Zero did this!?" Davy asked. "We have to find them before it's too late! You were able to find me when I was sent to Egypt—can't you use whatever trick you used then to find Micky and Peter?"

"Last time, I was helped by you playing the ocarina; I was able to get a lock on the location and time of where the music was coming from. We don't have that advantage now," Mike said, as he ran back inside and started pushing random buttons. "But maybe Micky's wristwatch might be able to…"

"Look!" the English boy said, pointing to the screen. "…I don't wanna speak too soon, but I think it's working!"

"A few months back in time, in Ventura, California?" Mike said, reading the screen. "Why would they end up there?"

"Who cares about why—at least we know where they are!"

Mike nodded in agreement at this and tried to work the controls again, but the time machine refused to budge.

"I don't believe this," he groaned. "She's not budging again."

Davy sighed.

"Well, I suppose if it's any consolation, once Micky can get that wristwatch of his working again, he and Peter should find their way back to us. He's good with things like science and gadgets…"

"Unless…" Mike began.

"Unless what?" Davy asked.

"Well, call me a pessimist, but it could be that Zero made it so that Micky and Peter are lost in Ventura somewhere—somewhere where they can't use that thing. Now, I'll admit that I don't have any idea of how he'd do that, but, let's face it—it's well within Zero's power to do it."

The console suddenly whirred, and Mike stared at it, frowning.

"What do you mean, you did it!?" the Texan accused. "Why'd you send them to Ventura for, anyway!? And why won't you let us go get them!?"

The time machine pitched forward again without a response, tipping Mike and Davy out and closing the doors after them.

"Oh, come on!" Mike complained. "This again!?"

He dodged as she swung a door open to hit him with, which she quickly closed and locked again.

"She's doing the thing again; guess we've gotta look around and figure out what she wants us to do, or else she won't let us find Micky and Peter. At least we know now that they're okay…" The Texan trailed off, looking at the stunned look on Davy's face. "Something wrong, Tiny?"

Wordlessly, Davy pointed to a building nearby.

"So?" Mike asked. "It's a bus depot."

"It's not just a bus depot, Mike. It's _the_ bus depot. Don't you remember?"

Mike looked back at the building, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "How could I not? Babbitt's rent hike made me desperate for a roommate, so I came here to post a notice on the bulletin board to see if anyone was interested."

Davy suddenly grabbed Mike's arm.

"Correction," he said, his eyes widening, as well. "You're coming here to post a notice on the bulletin board."

"I'm… what…?"

Mike trailed off as he saw red Pontiac GTO pull into the parking lot of the bus depot—and a younger version of himself was driving it.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaa—!?"

"Shh!" Davy exclaimed, pulling Mike behind the El Dorado as the younger Mike looked in their direction, puzzled.

He didn't seem to notice them; younger Mike seemed satisfied that there was nothing, and he began to dig through the glove compartment—obviously looking for the flier that he intended to post.

"…Did I really have my hair that short?"

"Mike…" Davy said. "Can I run something by you?"

"Sure."

"Why would we be sent here—on the day we met?"

"Well, uh… I just don't have any idea, Tiny. Maybe we just need a reminder of what's important—not that we really need one, but I guess it can't hurt, can it?"

"Guess not…" Davy said. "And now it makes sense why Micky and Peter were sent to Ventura—that's where they first met."

"Guess they could use a reminder, too, or would just enjoy it," Mike said. He suddenly paled. "Or, on the other hand… maybe they're there and we're here to stop time from being rewritten beyond all repair."

"Huh?" Davy asked, still looking at the younger Mike, who was still looking through his glove compartment for the flier.

Present-day Mike quickly placed a hand on Davy's head and turned him to face the doors of the bus depot.

He was just in time for Davy to see Mr. Zero walking into the bus depot.

"If I'm out here," Mike said, indicating his past self. "Then you're in there. And now Zero is, too."

"But that's… _Oh_."

Without a word, the two ran inside; thankfully, young Mike was still too busy looking through the glove compartment for the flier to notice his older self running in and out of his line of vision.

"Where is he…?" Davy asked. "Where'd he go?"

"There…" Mike said. "And he's heading right for…"

He trailed off, both him and Davy staring in horror as Zero was approaching a younger Davy who was pulling all of his luggage together onto a cart. Zero was holding something in his hand.

"That's me!" present-day Davy said. "Zero's going to talk to me. And he's got something there—looks like a taxi voucher or something…"

"I think that's exactly what it is—a taxi voucher," Mike said. "Now I know what that note of his meant—'_it is all too easy to tear apart those who have never been together_.'"

Davy looked horrified.

"He's going to fix it so that I never meet you!" he cried.

* * *

"Micky…?" Peter asked. "What just happened to us? Where are Mike and Davy?"

"I'm trying to figure that out," the brunet said. "This weirdo wristwatch seems to have stopped going on the fritz for the moment; maybe I can try getting it to send us back to them…" He frowned, deeply, as an error message appeared on the screen upon his attempt to do so. "…Or not…"

"We're stuck here!?" the blond asked. "Forever!?"

"Nah," Micky said. "You know Mike; he won't let us be stranded here—if he wasn't about to let Davy get stranded in Egypt, there's no way he'll let us get stranded…" He looked around at the familiar sites. "…here in Ventura."

"We're in Ventura?" Peter asked, looking around. "Oh. Yeah. Guess we are, aren't we? Boy, this brings back some memories, doesn't it?"

"I'll say it does…" Micky said, grinning broadly as he momentarily forgot about their predicament. "You remember that streetlight there?"

"On that corner? Of course—that's where we ran into each other for the first time," Peter mused.

"Yeah—literally…" Micky smirked. "I can't believe it; everything looks exactly the same as I remember it—the same bright sun… the same clouds in the sky…"

"You were paying attention to the clouds' shapes?" Peter asked.

"Why do you think I crashed into you?"

"Good point. And you're right; everything really does look the same. I wonder if…" Peter trailed off. "Hey, Micky? What date do you have on that wristwatch?"

Micky looked to him sharply, realizing the implications of this, and, wordlessly, held it out to him.

"You're right," he said. "It's the day we met—in the very same place. But why?"

Peter shrugged.

"I don't know, but I'm all for sitting back and enjoying the reminiscing. Maybe we can even watch it happen. Look—there I am!"

A younger version of himself was heading to the street corner from one way, just ambling along aimlessly. Suddenly, though, in a cloud of smoke, someone appeared a few yards ahead of the young Peter, startling him.

"…Funny. I don't remember that ever happening."

"Peter!" Micky hissed. "That's Zero!"

Peter did a double-take, his jaw dropping.

"But… I never met Zero the day I met you! The first time I met him was in his pawn shop the day I got that harp—never before!" Peter looked to Micky, visibly perturbed. "Micky, what's going on here?"

"I don't know," Micky said. "But I've got a really bad feeling that Zero's going to try fixing things to go his way." His eyes widened. "I was right! He got back the page about the day we met—that's all that mattered to him, so that's why he returned all the others! This is the only one he needs." Fear gripped at him, and Peter could only nod, realizing the implications.

"If he stops us from meeting… he wins. For keeps."


	21. A Very Extraordinary Scene

_Notes: And, it's complete! Many, many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I'll be taking a little victory break next week, after which Part Three of the trilogy will begin! Also, due to FFN's rules, I've left out the snippets of lyrics in this version of the chapter; if you want the version with the lyrics, please read the version on tumblr or on the Monkeesfics LJ comm.  
_

* * *

Micky and Peter could only stare as Zero finished speaking to younger Peter, apparently giving him directions to somewhere. He walked away, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. Young Peter now turned around, heading away from the spot where he was supposed to be colliding with Micky.

"No…" present-day Peter whispered. "No… we have to stop him—stop me! If he keeps going… I'll never meet you!"

"Desperate times call desperate measures," Micky said. He cupped his hands to his mouth in order to project his voice as far as he could. "HEY, PETE!"

Present-day Peter jumped a mile, and younger Peter stopped in his tracks, looking baffled at the fact that someone had been calling for him. He turned around, beginning to go back again in the right direction.

Young Micky, on the other hand, had been utterly baffled by what sounded like his own voice. He broke into a run…

…Colliding with young Peter.

"You did it!" present-day Peter said. "You actually did it!"

"How about that?" present-day Micky grinned. "My big mouth was finally good for something!"

He blinked as the summer breeze blew an old page by them. Peter grabbed at the fluttering page and grinned, as well.

"Our page from the Book of Ages. Three more pages to go…"

He trailed off as the Vortex manipulator started fritzing out a second time.

"Here we go again," the brunet sighed, holding on to Peter's arm as they vanished once again.

A few yards away, their younger counterparts looked in that direction on account of the sudden sound. Seeing nothing, they looked back at each other and shrugged, and headed off together.

* * *

Back in the bus depot, Mike and Davy could only stare in horror as younger Davy accepted the taxi voucher from Zero.

"What do we do!?" present-day Davy exclaimed, tugging on Mike's arm.

The Texan gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do.

"You wait here, Tiny," he said. "Oh, and uh… sorry in advance."

"…Sorry for what!?" Davy demanded, as Mike slipped into the crowd. "Mike, what do you think you're doing!?"

Obscured by the crowd, Zero vanished, his work completed. Young Davy began to lug his luggage cart off towards the taxi stand.

Present-day Davy decided that he couldn't wait for Mike; he would have to risk whatever paradoxes ensued from talking to his past self, because he knew that the alternative of a life where he never met Mike was unbearable.

He opened his mouth, but then trailed off; Mike had slipped through the crowd and ahead of young Davy, who had been slowed down by the cart. Timing it perfectly, Mike stuck his foot out, resulting in young Davy hitting his shin on the Texan's boot. Young Davy yelped, tripping and falling flat on his face. The taxi voucher fell from his hand and, before the boy could look up, Mike snatched it from the floor and disappeared back into the crowd.

Young Davy's luggage cart continued to roll forward, resulting in a domino effect that caused several others to trip over him and the cart until he could get up and get it under control again.

Upset by the crowd, papers started fluttering through the air, and present-day Davy managed to grab a page from the Book of Ages as it passed him. He looked up in time to see Mike return, tearing up the taxi voucher.

"And the rest, as they say," he said. "Is history."

He looked towards the information counter, where a very sullen-looking young Davy had resigned himself to going back to now that he had lost his taxi voucher. As he waited in line, young Mike, finally having found the flier, entered the depot and headed over to the bulletin board to post it.

"And I think that's our cue to leave and let things take their course," present-day Mike said. "Maybe now the Eldy will let us go home."

"I wouldn't count on that," Davy sighed, and then he stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?"

"…You just tripped me in the shin back there!" he said. "That _hurt_!"

"You're still here by my side, ain't ya?"

"Yes…"

"Case closed. Let's go."

The two managed to slip outside unseen, though they glanced back in time to see Mike coming over to the information booth to stop the man there from scamming Davy, knowing that things would be alright.

The Eldy admitted them entrance after Mike waved the page in front of her doors. But the moment they were inside, she was whisking them off again.

"Look, is it too much to ask that you get us together with Micky and Peter before you start hauling us off to parts unknown?" the Texan drawled.

She responded by tipping Mike and Davy outside again, locking the doors behind them. They seemed to be backstage in an old theatre. Before the two could protest, however, Micky and Peter suddenly appeared in a flash of Vortex Manipulator, looking as stunned as Mike and Davy were.

They began to talk over each other at once, explaining their stories. Mike then whistled for them to be quiet.

"Fellas," he said. "Do you realize something here? Zero did his best to stop you two from meeting, just like he did with me and Davy. We managed to stop him, but he didn't offer any resistance. Why?"

"Maybe he didn't think we could do it?" Micky asked.

"No," Mike said. "You know how obsessed Zero is with us. He wouldn't leave anything to chance like that. He let us fix those moments and get the pages back just to get us to build up our confidence."

"Why?" Davy asked.

"Because there's still one more chance for him to mess things up for us and make it so that the four of us don't ever get together. Separating all of us would've been ideal for him—but all he needed was to keep me from meeting Peter, so that I couldn't defend him at his trial. And when did I meet you, Shotgun?"

"At that talent show—back when you and Davy were Lone Star and Union Jack, and Micky and I were the California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee."

"And did you take a look around at where the four of us are standing?"

"It's the Great Oak Theatre," Davy realized, his eyes widening.

"Exactly," Mike said. "And I'll bet you anything that we were sent back in time to the night of the talent show."

"So, Zero's going to try to sabotage tonight, like he did when he tried to stop us from meeting and making our duo acts," Peter said.

"And we're going to have to stop him," Micky said. "But what are we supposed to do? Where do we go?"

Mike looked at the clock on the wall.

"It's about a quarter to eight—we went onstage exactly at eight."

"But that doesn't make sense," Davy said. "We've already met by this point; we just got the jade monkey statue and we're probably running around right now, trying to keep it out of the hands of those thieves."

"Maybe it's not the meeting," Micky said. "Maybe it's something else…"

Mike snapped his fingers.

"He doesn't need to stop us from meeting. He needs to stop us from coming together and forming the Monkees—which we did on that stage, at exactly 8:00."

Peter suddenly let out a gasp.

"What!?" Micky asked,

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "That's it! All of those pages from the Book of Ages—the pages that mentioned us—they were all leading us to this moment. Look!"

He held out the page that he had picked up in Ventura. Davy also held his recovered page out.

"Look, there it is again, on these two pages—'_The sky will come full circle when the extraordinary is believed._' It's talking about 'Circle Sky'—about us, singing it here! This moment _had_ to happen—us meeting and becoming the Monkees—in order for all the other moments to happen, too!"

"Because none of them could've happened if we never became the Monkees," Micky murmured. "Peter and I would've moved on because we wouldn't have all been hired for that summer gig at the Vinnie Van Gough-Gough…"

"…And Mike wouldn't be there to defend me at my trial!" Peter finished, looking horrified.

Before Mike could reply, a fifth voice responded.

"Exactly, Mr. Tork," Zero sneered at them. "This is where it ends—right where it began."

The quartet turned to see Zero standing a few feet away. He raised his hands, and the four were sent flying, pinned to the back wall by an invisible force.

"So, you figured it out," he scowled. "I suspected you would. But it doesn't matter now. Things are going to change here."

"You've only got us hanging here," Micky said, glaring right back at him. "How is this gonna stop our past selves from singing?"

"That is easy enough," Zero smirked. "You're the one who came up with the lyrics on the spur of the moment. All I have to do is stop you from getting the inspiration. And I know just how to do that."

"You can't kill a musician's inspiration," Mike scoffed. "Remember what I said at the trial?"

"Ah, but there is one way," Zero smirked. "Right now, the four of you are split up, trying to find each other as you're playing keep-away with that jade figurine. Those crooks are after you all—more than enough of a situation to worry your fool head over your little English friend, isn't it?"

"I'd already gotten out of the ductwork by this point in time," Davy said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "He has no reason to worry about me now."

"Then I'll just have to give him one, won't I?" Zero sneered.

A bolt of energy shot out from his hand, striking Davy; involuntarily, he cried out in pain as the others called out to him. But soon, another voice was heard—that of a younger Mike, hearing the cry and thinking that it was his Davy.

Present-day Davy now gritted his teeth as he realized what was happening; he bit back another cry of pain, but Zero looked triumphant.

"It is done," he said. "One cry from you is all it will take—he will be distracted with worry over you for the next ten minutes. He won get a chance to play onstage, let alone get the inspiration for that song."

He looked to present-day Mike now, his eyes flaring with malice as young Mike continued to call for Davy.

"Do you see, Nesmith?" he gloated. "Your greatest strength—your so-called power of love—is what will prove to be your undoing! All I need are these ten minutes!"

He strengthened the energy bolt at Davy; the English boy cringed, but refused to cry out. Still, it seemed fruitless; young Mike was frantically calling for him.

"This is it, then…" Peter said, softly. "After everything we did… everything we accomplished… this is how it ends—with all of it undone…"

"We lost," Micky said, defeat evident in his voice.

"That's right," Zero said, smirking. "It won't be long now, Boys!"

"I'm… sorry…" Davy said, through gritted teeth. "Mike…"

"Don't you ever blame yourself," Mike said, trying to talk through the lump in his throat. "Just… just keep believing, y'all. No matter what happens now—wherever we end up… we'll be okay. I know we will. Maybe we'll meet up again—start up some other way. Maybe… just maybe… we've still got a chance…"

"Five minutes left…" Zero snarled.

Already, they boys' bodies were beginning to fade away; a new timeline was forming as young Mike continued to call for Davy, nowhere near the stage where he was supposed to be heading to.

Present-day Davy held back a sob.

"It's alright, Tiny; it's gonna be alright. You and I will still be together; we'll make it work somehow," Mike said. "Mick… Pete… you two do your very best to find us again, y'hear?"

"Of course we will," Peter promised, through his own tears.

Micky nodded.

"Hey, Fellas?" he asked, glancing at his fading form. "While we're still the Monkees… for these last five minutes, anyway… how about one last number?"

"_Really_?" Zero asked, rolling his eyes.

"You got it, Mick," Mike said, ignoring Zero. "Let's go out the same way we came in—'Circle Sky.'"

He began to sing, the others backing him. Even Davy managed it, despite his condition.

Within earshot, young Mike froze, the song coming from… somewhere, sounding like his own voice, as well as others', singing words that made no sense, yet felt… right.

"Mike!"

The young Texan turned around to see Davy—his Davy—standing there, relieved.

"There you are! I thought they'd gotten you!" the young English boy exclaimed. "Come on; we're in trouble—the judges want the two of us or Micky and Peter to go on first! How do we do that without two of us ending up caught?!"

Young Mike thought for a moment as young Micky and Peter now joined them, silently asking for his advice. He could still just barely hear the song.

"We'll go on together," he said. "One act." He paused, trying to figure out how and why he could hear his own voice singing a song not too far away. "And I know just what we're singing."

He ushered the others away, towards the stage, a song now in his heart.

And as he did so, the four, fading present-day Monkees slowly began to get their physical forms back.

"What is this…!?" Zero hissed, as they continued to sing, now out of defiance rather than a last hurrah. "It can't be…"

Their song ended, but he could hear it still playing—from the stage, played by the younger Monkees, fulfilling their original timeline.

"No… _NO_!" Zero fumed. His spell began to falter, and the Monkees came loose from the wall.

"Awww, yeah!" Micky countered. "Power of love, Baby!"

Mike took a step forward now, placing himself between Zero and his bandmates as the concurrent page from the Book of Ages fluttered from the flies above and into his hand.

"Get out of here," he ordered, quietly. "Not even you can change the past. Our past is ours."

"Congratulations on winning another round, Nesmith. The past may be yours, but the future can still be mine!" Zero warned.

The Texan's eyes narrowed.

"You just bring it on."

"Once I find the proper way of going about it, rest assured, I will," he vowed.

Without another word, he vanished in a cloud of smoke. Mike exhaled, having acted a lot more confident than he really had been.

He drew his bandmates into a hug.

"You okay there, Tiny?" he asked, concerned.

"I am now," Davy promised. "We all are."

**Epilogue**

Still hugging onto each other, the quartet—grateful to still be a quartet after that narrow escape—returned to the El Dorado. As the time machine took off again, Peter began restoring the pages into the Book of Ages.

"There's only one page left," he said. "But… it's nowhere in the past. I think… I think it fell somewhere into the future!"

Mike looked at the console as they landed.

"Well, according to the Eldy, it's not our problem now."

"_What_?" Davy asked, stunned.

"I know. I can't believe it, either. But look—we're in our time, just some hours after we left, to make up for however much time we spent having all of those adventures in the past!"

"Home!" Micky exclaimed. "We're really home!?"

He scrambled outside, exclaiming in joy to see their beach—and their Pad.

"It would appear you are," Professor Song's voice said.

The others quickly filed outside to see the professor standing there, her arms folded as she waited for them.

Peter ran over to her, holding out the Book of Ages.

"It's all in there, except for one page," he said.

"One page from the future, I assume?" she said, taking it from him. "I expected as much. It's still flying around in the Time Vortex somewhere; until it comes to rest, there won't be any chasing after it—neither by you or by Zero." She smiled. "But don't worry about that right now; you've done wonderful work—all of you."

She looked to Mike.

"And you led the way as I knew you would."

"You knew more than I did," Mike said. "About this, and a lot of other things, too. I'll bet there's more that you know."

"Yes," she said. "But I can't tell you."

"Figured as much," Mike sighed.

Anything else he had been about to say was preempted by the sound of the Eldy taking off again—without them, leaving behind their luggage and instruments—including Micky's new Moog synthesizer.

"Hey!" Micky yelped. "Where's she going!?"

"Back where she belongs," the professor said. "Don't forget, she doesn't belong to you."

"Yeah, but if Zero is going to mess around with the future, what do we do?" Davy asked. "We never did get the Harp of Ages from him; what if we need to chase him through time again?"

"Oh, you'll see the TARDIS again," the professor promised. "Trust me on this—you don't find her. She finds you when you need her most."

"And the fella who owns her, who left that message for us…" Mike said. "She's going back to him now, isn't she? Who was that guy?"

"My husband," the professor said. "And if it makes you feel any better, there are things I don't tell him, either."

"So he's the one who left the key and box of hats in the well back in Texas?" Mike asked. "Why?"

"Oh, it's a long story—one for another time," she said, holding her hand out to Micky.

"Huh? Oh…" He handed her the Vortex Manipulator, and Davy and Mike followed suit with the Ocarina and the Sonic Screwdriver.

"Thank you all," she said, handing them a small moneybag. "That is for you—payment for services rendered."

"Oh, well…" the Texan said. "We were just in it to help secure our timeline; I wouldn't feel right, taking money from you."

"I know, but I think you'll be needing it more than you realize," the professor said. "Your landlord's been around, looking for you."

"…Oh, merciful heavens…"

"Exactly," she said. "Well, I must be off; you know where to find me."

With a smile and a wave, she pushed a button on the manipulator, and vanished.

"Well," Peter sighed. "Here we are, back home from adventures that no one will ever believe."

"We did get a Moog out of it, though," Micky said, running a hand over his new prized possession.

"And, most of all, we're still together," Mike finished.

"For how long, though?" Davy asked. He was looking out at the Pacific Ocean, as he usually did when he was upset. "You heard Zero—this time, it's going to be an all-out war against us."

Mike placed a hand on his shoulder.

"So, let him declare war," he said. "We've got all that we need—even if it was no more than we had before."

Davy did manage a smile at this.

"We going to go on the run like we originally planned?" he asked. "I bet we could get far enough away this time."

Mike sighed, looking at their instruments and luggage.

"If Zero could pop in and out of the Eldy the way he did, it doesn't matter where we go," he said. "And besides, we've got the home advantage here; that has to count for something. We're staying here."

He looked to his bandmates, who nodded in agreement. There would be a fight in their future, for their future. For the moment, however, life would soon return to normal at 1334 Beechwood.

And that was something they would certainly enjoy while it lasted.

**The End**


End file.
